#HOW CHARITY KNOWS SOMETHINGS WRONG BUT KEEPS PUSHING AND THINKS ITS SOMETHING WRONG REVOLVING HER

[allthebooksandcrannies]

When I Was a Young Boy (A Bruce Wayne Fic)

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Chapter 1:  “ In My Heart (I Can’t Contain It)”

If you were to ask the average Gothamite what Bruce Wayne was like as a baby, they would tell you that Gotham’s “white knight” was probably a very happy, very sociable kid. After all, someone who was that friendly and philanthropic while living in Gotham of all places, must come by it naturally.

If you asked any member of the Justice League who was trusted enough to know the Batman’s identity (and, therefore, was likely among the man’s closest friends) what Bruce Wayne was like as a baby, they would insist that he had to have been one of those quiet, calm children that always strike an embarrassing amount of envy in the parents of especially colicky newborns.

Alfred Pennyworth, if pressed for a response, would reluctantly tell you that both parties were completely correct on all accounts.  

-0

[ApApAp]

-0

“What do you think, Alfred? Thomas insists he looks just like him, but that is a Kane nose right there if I’ve ever seen one” Martha asked as she helped adjust said babe in Alfred’s arms so that his head was better supported.  

Alfred considered the newborn. He had never actually held an infant before, and it felt incredibly wrong for hands that had caused so much damage back in his army days to be cradling such a fragile being.

Alfred had long known that parenthood was not in the cards for him, but he was suddenly so, so grateful that it was for his friends. If there were any two people on this planet who would make truly good parents, it was these two, of that Alfred was sure.  These people who had taken one look at the damaged soldier called to them at the request of a dying man and decided that they would be the family this man so obviously needed, no matter how much he protested along the way.

Surely if anyone would be a good father it was this man, this man who sat up till three am in front of the fire with an employee he hadn’t even known a month, just rambling about the latest medical journal article he had read to let his companion ignore just how much he really did not want to sleep.

Surely if anyone would make a good mother it was this woman, this woman who insisted that Alfred sit down to tea with her in the garden every morning, asking his advice on her plans for each of her charity project because she wanted him to know that he and his opinion were valuable to her at a time when he wondered whether his life meant anything at all.

Yes, Thomas and Martha were capable of loving a child far better than someone of Alfred’s background. But, Alfred thought as baby Bruce’s face scrunched into startled confusion after he gagged himself on his own tiny fist, this is Gotham, and it never hurts to have extra protection in Gotham. If Alfred’s army years were going to be good for anything, it would be for protecting those around him.  Yes, in that moment, staring into a pair of blue eyes that seemed to peer into Alfred’s very soul, Alfred promised himself that he would protect this child with his life. Whatever it took.

But he had been asked a question, hadn’t he.

“If I had to wager a guess, madam, I would say he looks more like the entry hall portrait of Master Thomas’s great-great-uncle than anything.”

He could see the moment Martha recalled the portrait he was referencing, a portrait that had been painted when its subject was about ninety years old. Her eyes narrowed to a dangerous squint.

“Alfred, are you saying my baby looks like an old man” she asked in a dangerous tone.

Alfred looked up at her and was just beginning to wonder if he had somehow crossed a line he didn’t know existed when a mischievous smile broke through Martha’s attempt at maintaining a faux-stern expression. Alfred couldn’t help but match it with one of his own.

 -0

[TwTwTw]

-0

If someone had come to Thomas on the day of his wedding and told him that that was not the happiest day of his life, he would have argued with them.  That changed the day his son was born.  

He had devolved into downright panic when Martha’s water broke and had been subjected to both Alfred’s sarcastic quips and Martha’s cheerful giggles the whole way to the hospital.  He supposed it was ironic that the trauma surgeon who regularly faced the worst Gothamites could inflict on one another was left hysterical by something as natural as childbirth, but it was different. The operating room was his domain. He had control of what happened there for better or ill, but there was no personal stake their outside of its reflection on him professionally.

Here, however, he had no control. He was no obstetrician, and he was well aware of how many things could go wrong in childbirth. Thomas struggled to relinquish control at the best of times (something that made Leslie despair every time she was unfortunate enough to find him as a patient) and with two lives he valued even more than his own hanging in the balance… well, let’s just say that he was grateful for the easy familiarity of Martha and Alfred’s teasing keeping him grounded to the moment.

Now, six months later, the memory of that day feels more like a dream.  It feels strange to think there was ever a time when his world didn’t revolve around this wonderful child who was an amalgamation of Thomas and Martha and something that was entirely Bruce.  Now, he could think of nothing better to do on a Saturday morning than to spend time with his infant son.

“Where to now, chum?” he asked as Bruce looked up from the leaf he had been examining. The infant lifted his hand to point insistently at another tree a little further down the walking trail through the manor’s grounds. Thomas followed the chubby little finger until Bruce stopped pointing in favor of touching this new tree’s leaves and bark, exactly as he had been for the last hour and a half. But that was fine. Thomas would take his son to every single tree in Gotham if he wanted him to, especially if it meant he got to keep watching the sheer wonder all over his little face. Thomas knew babies grew too fast, so he intended to enjoy every second of it.

 -0

[MwMwMw]

-0

 Martha smiled down at Bruce from her seat on the sitting room loveseat as he pulled himself into a standing position and grabbed onto his mother’s legs.

“C’mere, little one” she crooned, pulling him up into her lap. “Can you say ‘mama’ for me? ‘Mah-mah.’”  

Their efforts to get Bruce to say anything had picked up a new urgency after his first birthday had come and gone several months ago with Bruce still not having said his first words.  

Bruce did not say ‘mama,’ but he did match Martha’s smile and throw his head into her chest as though asking for a hug, so she considered that enough of a win.

“Does someone want a hug from his Mama?” Bruce squealed in response. “Oh, is that how it is, mister?” Martha grinned. Words weren’t the only way to make sure her baby knew he was loved. “Well, if you don’t want a hug from Mama, then I guess you’ll get a visit from the tickle monster!” And with that she started a furious tickling campaign that left her baby boy laughing louder and longer than she’d ever heard before, and Martha was laughing right along with him.

As the moment faded away, Martha tightened her grip almost imperceptibly, and Bruce snuggled deeper into her neck in response.

“Well, aren’t the two of you a pair,” Alfred said from behind her.

“Alfie!” Martha exclaimed. “How long have you been standing there?”

Alfred pushed the tea cart he had brought over to the side table beside the couch and started pouring Martha a cup of green tea.  “Long enough, ma’am.  Shall I take the young master while you have your tea?”

“That would be lovely, my friend,” she said, reaching to pass her child over. “As long,” she continued, “as you don’t take him too far.”  Martha picked up her cup and saucer as Alfred settled down in the armchair across from her, Bruce cradled in his lap and quickly falling into a contented sleep.

And they just sat there, in silence, watching as Bruce’s little breaths gradually deepened and evened out. Eventually, Martha rested the empty cup and its saucer on her lap. Loathe to break the true serenity of the quiet moment, she spoke just above a whisper. “We’ve got a good one here, Alfie. I can tell we’re going to be so proud of the man he becomes.”

Alfred didn’t respond right away, pausing to brush a tuft of fine black hair out of the child’s face. “I would accuse you of being a bit biased, but something tells me you’re completely correct in this case. I have complete faith that this child will do great things, no matter how clichéd that sounds.”

[tsaritsa]

the end is the same (for everyone)

hi guys. here’s the 6k fic i wrote for day 1 of royai week. i incorporated all 3 themes bc i’m that Hoe

warnings: allusions to child trafficking (but it has a happy ending)

“He knew we were on a lead! But sure, let’s just drag us out of that because of some third-rate mobster-”

“Brother-”

It was late afternoon at Central Headquarters, with the sun lazily hovering in the sky, drenching the Western Wing in deep hues of orange and pink. The majority of the administration personnel had already turned in for the day; instead leaving the night staff flitting around the building like moths around a candle. Edward had only been inside Central Command a few times in the short years since he became a State Alchemist, but it still gave him pause when he considered just how vast the place was.

They certainly weren’t in Resembool anymore.

He threw up his hands in frustration as they rounded the corner and opened the door to the office they’d been given direction to. “Al, he knew! Next time he asks for my help-”

“I can’t think of a time when I’d be asking for your help Fullmetal, but I certainly wouldn’t be complaining about it as much as you are,” Mustang answered smoothly, standing up from the desk he had been hunched over, ink stains all over his hands. “You have been ordered to join this mission and you will perform your duties as such.” He turned to Lieutenant Hawkeye, who Edward realised wasn’t in the familiar navy of the military uniform – none of the occupants in the room were, actually. Blues had been replaced with blacks, uniforms with formal suits, and for the Lieutenant – a slinky black number that was practically dripping in what he could only assume were diamonds. It almost looked like armour, with the way the fabric was sewn, and how the gems laid on top of on another, interlocking in a complex pattern.

Mustang cocked his head to the side as he considered the Lieutenant. “Do you need more diamonds?”

Hawkeye hummed and stretched her arm out to inspect her shoulder better – the diamonds glinted and dazzled with every movement. “I think we should be fine now, sir. Anything more and I wouldn’t be surprised if Bobby suspected we were there for him.” She turned to face the brothers properly, an expectant look on her face. “You have received the dossier we sent to Eastern Headquarters, correct?”

Edward and Alphonse nodded.

She gestured to the couch, accepting the file the Colonel handed her. “Then tell me your role. This operation has to go smoothly, and the last thing we want is for you to get caught in the crossfire if something goes wrong.” Hawkeye settled herself neatly by the low table, adjusting her dress as she knelt down. It was a far cry from how he had seen her before – Lieutenant Hawkeye wasn’t someone Edward would personally call scary…but her no-nonsense attitude left Edward with the impression that she didn’t have the time to suffer fools. How Mustang made himself an exception to that rule was a mystery.

“We’re acting as decoys, right?”

The Lieutenant nodded. “Us two, as well as Colonel Mustang will be acting as a lure for Bobby Carlsberg. The event we’re attending tonight is a charity function that’s actually a front for a black market auction. The man has done far worse than peddling illegal goods on the side, but we need to arrest him with an actual crime to ensure we can make all the other charges stick.”

“What has he done?” Alphonse asked.

Hawkeye’s lips thinned. “It doesn’t need to be repeated,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “In any case I’m sure more will be uncovered once we have jurisdiction over his financial records and can do a through sweep of his townhouse apartment. But those aren’t details necessary for tonight. What I need from the two of you is absolute compliance with any orders I give, or that the Colonel gives tonight. This isn’t an operation where you can just fight your way out-”

Edward scoffed. “We’re not that bad-”

“Tell that to the expense reports the Lieutenant is continually filling out on your behalf,” Mustang said pointedly from one of the desks, not looking up from his work. “I’m not in the mood for a tantrum tonight, Fullmetal. This is our only chance to get this guy and I will not have you screwing it up for me.”

“Please, Edward. We know you and Alphonse are capable – but in this instance you’re simply playing the role of a child.” Hawkeye’s tone was less acerbic, but no less insistent. “Working as a team is the best way to catch this man.”

Edward crossed his arms over his chest. “Then why aren’t we including Al in this? If it came to blows, then-”

“Alphonse is a civilian. We are not endangering his life when there are plenty of soldiers to spare first.” Mustang pushed himself away from his desk, passing the Lieutenant a small bracelet that glinted in the office light similarly to the gemstones attached to her dress. “Is that too gaudy for Mrs Phillips?”

Hawkeye shook her head, a small smile curling up her lips. “Such a shame you won’t let me keep these diamonds – I could afford to rent a better apartment if you kept me supplied. I doubt the lapidists would notice you transmuted them.”

“Knowing you, you’d only adopt more dogs. The economy would crumble overnight as you bought out every breeder in the country.” Mustang’s tone was teasing, and this annoyed Edward for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

“I thought State Alchemists weren’t meant to use their abilities to create personal wealth.” The words were careless and thrown out, and he knew he had overstepped as soon as he had uttered them.

Mustang’s jaw tensed, and he knelt down next to the Lieutenant as she extended her wrist towards him. He was quiet for a moment as his fingers worked over the catchments. “And I thought you had been told before that I won’t have any backtalking when we have a job to do. We ordered you here because you are beholden to, and I will use any advantage in my arsenal to ensure this operation goes smoothly. If you do not follow my orders tonight, you will be court-martialled Fullmetal.” His hands dropped from the Lieutenant’s wrist and he looked squarely at Edward, eyes hard. “Do I make myself clear?”

Edward sunk further into the couch. “Yes sir,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that-”

“Yes, sir,” he said louder, irritation as clear as a bell. Mustang’s eyebrow lifted slightly, before he sighed.

“Lieutenant, I can trust you to get Fullmetal ready?”

Hawkeye nodded shortly, watching as the Colonel strode away towards where Havoc was preparing some handguns, hands shoved deeply into his pocket. “I wouldn’t try my luck if I were you,” she admonished, standing up and dusting off her knees. “There’s a lot riding on tonight.”

“But-”

Hawkeye shook her head, signalling him to follow her. “We’ll be back in a moment, Alphonse,” she said, opening the door and waiting for Edward to pass through.

He kept quiet as he followed her down the hallway. It was…strange seeing her out of her uniform, truth be told. The idea of her having a life that existed outside of the military – one that didn’t revolve around tailing Mustang – still seemed like a foreign concept, like those old adventure movies with the fantastical creatures that he and Al would watch when Mr Smith brought his projection box to Resembool.

The Lieutenant stopped before a door, and unlocked it, glancing down the hallway as she did so. Inside was what Edward could only describe as a costume closet and he found himself wedged between boxes marked ‘shoes’ and a rack of black suits. Hawkeye ran her hand over the selection, her tongue poking out as she peered at tags. “I guess you could always do some alterations if the pants don’t fit well,” she said, selecting one of the coat hangers and holding it at length. She passed the suit to Edward before stretching up onto the balls of her feet – as her arms lifted to pull back a box on the highest shelving level, he noticed the shoes she was wearing. The dark fabric of her dress had hidden them before but now, even in the dusty yellow light of the supply-closet-cum-undercover-outfit-storage, the diamond embellishing covering the nude satin of the heel glinted and sparkled.

“The Colonel really goes all-out for this stuff, doesn’t he?”

Hawkeye nodded as she rifled through the box. “It takes a bit of time – I spent most of the afternoon with him sewing all these diamonds on – but we’re mingling with the highest that society has to offer in Central and they’re very good at sniffing out those who don’t belong.”

Edward frowned. “Why not use alchemy? I do it with my coat all the time.”

Hawkeye laughed – a proper one, that caused her lips to stretch widely across her face. “The Colonel is very talented when it comes to alchemy, but we agreed it would be easier to simply do it by hand, rather than risk ruining the dress if he calculated a part of the transmutation incorrectly.” She handed him a tie – a deep burgundy one with flecks of gold thread woven in the silk – and pushed the box back into its place.

He adjusted the suit and tie in his arms as she shifted next to him, peering into one of the boxes labelled ‘shoes’. “I didn’t realise the Colonel could sew.”

“How did you think he managed with his gloves otherwise? I taught him the basic skills when we were younger-” she abruptly paused, hands hovering over another box before she sighed. “It goes without saying, Edward,” the Lieutenant said quietly, voice barely carrying over the hum of the heating pipes overhead, “but in the same way that we carry you and your brother’s secret – you will carry ours as well. Is that understood?”

Edward nodded quickly. There was no mistaking the ‘we’ – both on the level of the inner team themselves, undoubtedly entertaining his brother with jokes while they waited for the two of them to return; but also, the deeper meaning. It wasn’t hard to catch wind of the rumours, not certainly when he was still seen by most of Eastern Command to be something of an oddity and not truly considered part of the Colonel’s men. The most salacious ones were whispered in the mess hall with an air of incredulity and exaggeration – but there were little comments thrown his way, ones that he sometimes didn’t understand and sometimes wished he didn’t. He might’ve only been fourteen, but Edward wasn’t that unobservant.

The two of them reminded him a bit of binary stars – the theorised phenomena where the gravitational push of each affected the other in a constant, ever-shifting dance. It was easy enough to argue that was simply a result of the Lieutenant’s skill as a bodyguard, but even in the environment of his office, where danger was supposedly at its lowest, the two of them still shifted and adjusted, seemingly unaware of their actions. A shared history made a lot of sense, he supposed, accepting the shoes she passed him, still deep in thought. But it also raised questions of just how long they had known one another, and he had remembered the Colonel making a comment about the trials of trying to flirt with girls when he was a teenager and learning alchemy at the same time –

Yes, perhaps there were secrets better left untouched. Mustang’s alchemy was legendary with good reason, and men had killed for less.

He blinked rapidly as Hawkeye rested her hand on his shoulder, head cocked to the side in concern. “Are you okay?”

Edward nodded. “Yeah. Where do you want me to get dressed?” He followed her out of the small closet and waited as she locked the door.

“There’s a bathroom just around the corner. Come back to the office when you’re done.”

He shuffled into the office twenty minutes later, the tips of his ears burning with shame. The pants had been fine – one quick transmutation later and the fabric no longer bunched embarrassingly at his ankles. But the tie – the bloody tie! It wasn’t something he had ever learned how to do – there were no fancy school uniforms when he and Al were kids, and even if he did wear a military uniform, the need was only if you were a cadet. The fabric was crumpled tightly in his automail hand as he shut the door as quietly as he could manage, not wanting to attract any attention towards himself, but it was too late: as if on cue, everyone in the office turned their heads towards him expectantly.

Second Lieutenant Havoc grinned at him brightly from where he sat, his hands full of ammunition clips. “Looking good Chief!”

Mustang looked up from the desk he sat at. “Havoc’s right – you don’t scrub up too badly at all, Fullmetal. But where’s the tie?”

Edward sullenly held up the offending fabric. “I’ve never had to do one of these before.”

A small smile pulled at the older man’s lips – one that Edward was surprised to recognise not as unkind, but sympathetic. “Lieutenant, can you-”

“You know how to tie a tie better than I do, sir,” Hawkeye answered, in a manner that Edward felt was a bit more pointed than it necessarily needed to be, not looking up from a clipboard Sergeant Fuery had given her. “And I daresay you know more than just the Windsor knot.”

Mustang nodded, chastened. He beckoned Edward over, pushing himself away from the desk, which he realised was covered in blueprints and diagrams as he neared. Exits had been circled in thick red marker, with the Colonel’s familiar handwriting spread across the paper, scratched out furiously in places.

“I couldn’t do my own tie for the longest time either,” Mustang told him, flicking up the collar of his shirt and smoothing down the fabric of the tie to lie flush to his shoulders. Edward shifted awkwardly at the contact but said nothing. “My mother had to tie them all for me and then I just loosened them enough to get them over my head. But it’s bad form for the fabric to be twisted continuously.” His hands were sure and methodical as he worked the fabric. “Let me know if it’s too tight for you – can’t have you fainting in the middle of all this.”

“I thought a black tie dress code meant a black tie.”

Mustang nodded. “True. But you’re a child, and children are allowed to break the stupid rules that adults make up. It’s also so my men can identify you quickly in case of emergency.”

Edward snorted. “Would’ve thought you’d be basing that on my height-”

The knot was pulled up against his throat firmly, but not uncomfortably as Mustang drew back to admire his handiwork. “No, that would be unprofessional, Fullmetal, and I don’t have time for mucking around tonight.” He smoothed the collar back down and dusted the tops of his shoulders quickly. “And now you’re all set. We’re moving out in ten, so keep close by.” He tossed some white gloves his way, and Edward caught them easily.

“What’s wrong with my gloves?”

Mustang gave him a sceptical look, sitting back down. “Mine aren’t stained with oil.”

Jerk. Edward turned on his heel, and walked to where Al was perched, hilariously oversized on a chair that somebody had brought him. He rested his bare hand on his brother’s head, absorbing in the cool steel. “You’ll be okay without me?”

Alphonse nodded energetically, armour clinking. “Yeah! Mr Fuery is going to be in the building over handling all the communication, so I’ll be hanging out with him. It won’t be as fun as what you’re doing though.”

Edward laughed, rubbing the helmet. “At least you’ll be safe if things go sideways tonight.”

Alphonse scoffed. “If you’re going to be there, something is going to go wrong, brother.”

He flicked the top of Alphonse’s head, wincing as pain bloomed briefly across his finger. “I don’t think the Colonel has left any space in the plan for me to muck up. Anyway, you should have more faith in me! I’ve been in plenty of situations where things could’ve gone badly but didn’t.”

“Only because things were already bad enough by the time you came onto the scene,” Alphonse muttered.

Edward opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by the door to the office opening once more.

“ROY!”

“Hughes,” Mustang replied in a bored fashion, standing up. “Everybody’s ready on your end?”

Hughes nodded, winking at the boys as he crossed the room. “We’re good to go on your order. Team Arthur and Bruno are already in position.” He turned to Hawkeye and placed a hand dramatically over his heart.

“First Lieutenant, I’m sure Roy has already told you numerous times how wonderful you look tonight, but truly, you will outshine every guest there.”

Hawkeye tucked some hair behind her ear. “I hope you don’t mean that literally, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. The plan rides on our ability to identify our target.”

He held up his hands in defeat. “Right, right, we have a job to do, and there’s no time for dad jokes – by the way, have you seen the latest-”

“Later, Hughes.”

The subsequent briefing had been quick and to-the-point: they couldn’t arrest Bobby until after lot number two-hundred and fifty-two, and the little radio headsets that Fuery had kitted them out with would only work within a certain range in the building – if they strayed too far from the main floor they’d run the risk of losing the signal and his team would be unable to forewarn them of any issues. The earpiece felt uncomfortable in his ear but there was no point – nor time – to complain. Within minutes he was being escorted into a flash-looking car and sitting opposite the Colonel and Lieutenant.

“I still don’t understand why you needed me on this mission.”

“Bobby has a thing for blonds,” Mustang replied darkly after a beat and Hawkeye sent him a furious look.

“We weren’t going to tell him-”        

“He’s going to find out anyway Lieutenant-”

Edward frowned. “I don’t get it. Lieutenant Hawkeye is blonde, so-” Realisation dawned on him and he felt the contents of his lunch churn dangerously in his stomach. “I see.”

Hawkeye was staring daggers at her superior officer, who in turn was watching the city lights flicker by as they made their way down West Avenue. “It is insulting that you don’t think me capable, sir.” The title was thrown out bitterly, and Edward shrank back into his seat as best he could. This was a conversation he had no wish to be involved with.

“You’re more capable than any other person in the military, dear,” the Colonel answered finally, as the car slowed down in front of the glittering Heritage Hotel, “but we have a job to do and I need my wife-” he stressed the word as Havoc opened the door for him, “to be supporting me as best I can tonight.”

The Lieutenant stared at him, stony-faced as he offered her a gloved hand. “Of course, sweetheart,” she responded, a practiced smile forming on her face. “Come along, son,” she said to Edward as she accepted Mustang’s hand. “We have an auction to attend.”

Two hours into the evening and Edward was near ready to tear his hair out in frustration: auctions were the most boring thing he had ever attended in his life, and he had been subjected to some frankly inane military ceremonies before. Lieutenant Hawkeye stood out in the crowd in her bejewelled dress, but not by far – Edward was sure he had seen the entire wealth of his hometown on many a neck tonight. The numbers being tossed towards the auctioneer were absurd too – but he had long given up on his game of calculating just how much money was being transferred, instead busying himself with arranging his string beans by various qualities; first by length, then by shade, then –

“Bobby en route.” Fuery’s voice crackled in his ear and Edward felt himself stiffen despite the fact that he needed to appear as uncaring as possible. The Lieutenant had sat up straighter as well, though she masked it well by leaning to whisper something in the Colonel’s ear, who smiled after a few moments. The two of them seemed completely at ease in the roles of new money banker and ditzy socialite wife – it didn’t quite make sense to Edward why nobody was questioning his presence there: he hadn’t seen anyone near his age and he’d spent a good portion of the night people-watching from the second floor while his superiors blended in with the dancing couples below. He had noticed Bobby skulking at the edges of the dancefloor and had made a mental note to keep his distance while he wasn’t within shouting distance of either of his ‘parents’. Alphonse was right: he did have a unlucky habit of trouble finding him, and the fight that he had witnessed in the drive over put to rest any ideas of sorting the problem by himself. Trouble was sure to find him tonight, in the form of a man who boring name belied the monster within, and Edward was more than happy to delay the inevitable for as long as he could manage.

Bobby Carlsberg was a thin man with thinning hair and an even thinner moustache that only served to make the man look as sketchy as his report indicted him to be. There was an oily, slippery aspect to him too: and when he spoke Edward felt the revulsion slide down his spine unpleasantly.

“I must say sir, I have been admiring your wife all night and I’ve only just gathered up the courage to come say that.”

Everything about the man screamed sleaze and dishonesty – Edward shifted in his chair, adjusting the way he rested his head on the back of the chair so Bobby would be obscured by his fringe. The less he had to see him, the better.

Hawkeye’s laugh was airy and almost as disturbing as the man who stood before them. The auctioneer droned on in the background – some dusty old vase depicting a field of wheat was being frantically bid between two old men who looked to both have one foot in the grave already.

“You’re far too kind sir! Victor told me I had been turning heads, but I was terrified it was for the wrong reasons!”

Oh. That was why the dress had been sewn with what looked like a million diamonds – it wasn’t as a method of blending in with the society here – but to be seen, even amongst a dense crowd. For him to be seen.

“Nonsense! Your husband has an excellent eye for the latest fashion. Bobby extended his hand, and ‘Victor’ rose to shake it, a charming smile on his face. “You’re a very lucky man. The name is Bobby Carlsberg.”

“Victor Phillips. And yes, I am lucky. More than I will ever know,” Mustang said proudly, glancing back at his ‘wife’, his eyes passing over Edward as he did so. A warning. He sat up a little straighter and fiddled with his beans.

“Can I ask what interests you in this auction tonight, Victor?”

Mustang signalled a server to being them another chair and placed an order for some whiskey. “Well,” he began, casting the most obvious furtive look Edward had ever seen before leaning in closer to Bobby. “There have been a lot of very interesting auctions, but one has really caught my eye. Do you know about number two-hundred and fifty-two? I hear there’s a surprise included by request of the seller. I have a hunch I know what it is, but I’m dying to find out.”

Bobby’s eyebrows shot up. “A surprise?” His gaze slid to Edward, who grinned as toothily as he could manage before shoving all thirty-two string beans into his mouth.

“Alexander!” Hawkeye’s voice was playful as she leaned over the table to bat at his arm, but there was an undercurrent of sharpness woven into his ‘name’. “Don’t make me send you back to etiquette class.”

Victor laughed loudly. “Ah, boys will be boys, my fair-faced friend! As soon as a girl as pretty as you comes along he’ll change his tune.”

“Nobody will ever compare to my sweet Violet,” Mustang replied, his eyes glittering as he took the Lieutenant’s hand and kissed the ring on her finger. She smiled benevolently, before rising from her seat and leaning close to kiss the Colonel on his cheek.

“You’re too kind, sweetheart,” she said softly, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “But I must dash for a moment.”

They watched her leave, and Roy waited until she had passed through the ornate stained-glass doors before leaning in conspiratorially. “I have an inking the surprise in two-hundred and fifty-two might kick my wife down to second place.” It was incredible how well Roy could change the tone of his voice to mimic that of Bobby’s. The other man’s eyes were wide, glancing quickly between him and Edward.

“Do you mean-”

Mustang tapped the side of his nose, smirking. “I thought you might be a kindred spirit because you were one of the few who hasn’t bid on anything yet. I fear I’m not well-versed in the language here in Central but-”

“Not to worry my good man,” Bobby responded easily, his body relaxing as he accepted the whiskies from the server, passing one to Mustang with a lecherous grin. “We’re a little more refined than other places but I assure you the sights are even more pleasant than you could possibly imagine.”

It took everything in Edward’s willpower not to vomit his dinner as auction number two-hundred and fifty-two took to the stage. It was a necklace – even more ornate than the one the Lieutenant was wearing. Hawkeye flipped through her programme and gasped audibly as the auction house employs set up on stage.

“Oh – ! Victor! You must get that necklace for me. Bethany will go positively green with envy at Monica’s garden party next month!”

Mustang and Bobby shared a knowing smile. “Of course dear. But our good friend Bobby here also wishes to buy the necklace for his wife. We may be out of our depth, love.”

‘Violet’ pouted. “I guess we’ll have to see,” she said, disappointed. Her hands rested in her lap, fiddling with her fingernails. The tension was palpable as the auctioneer stood behind the podium and cleared his throat.

“Tonight, our last piece up for auction is the priceless Louiban set – a dazzling necklace that can be taken apart to make three more stunning necklaces. Ladies, this is a piece that only comes up for auction every blue moon, and it’s unlikely to be sold again for another sixty years. Can I get the bidding started at thirty million cenz?”

Edward choked on the water he was drinking, and the Lieutenant shot him a sharp look. Her entire posture had changed in a single moment; no longer was she a vapid socialite, but the woman he knew as the ‘Hawk’s Eye’ – and with good reason too. Other servers had slowly put down their trays – Team Arthur and Bruno were preparing too for what had every possibility of becoming a bloodbath.

A literal one.

Bobby looked back at Edward, before winking deliberately and he raised his hand. “Sixty million!” he called out in his oily voice.

What happened next was utter chaos.

The Lieutenant leapt across the table to pin Bobby down; Edward felt his chair being pulled back violently by some unknown force and then a pair of strong hands grab onto his upper arms. Shots rang out and they echoed loudly in the ballroom; there was a second of silence while everyone looked for the source of the original commotion, and then screams erupted as the high society of Central began to scramble for their nearest exit. Edward briefly caught sight of the Lieutenant wrestling with Bobby on the ground, a gun flung out of her reach while Mustang was dealing with his own mystery assailant.

Edward realised very quickly that the person dragging him away was not from Team Arthur or Bruno – and he roared as he clapped his hands together before slamming his palm onto this automail forearm as best he could manage. The scream behind him told him his aim had been true, and he fought off off the other arm that went to wrap around his neck.

He didn’t recognise the man who fell back to the ground, clutching at his shoulder that was bleeding profusely, but decided that it wouldn’t be a good idea to let him escape. The sound of his automail arm shattering the man’s jaw was immensely satisfying. Dimly, he could hear Fuery’s voice yelling frantically in his ear about something –

More shots rang out across the ballroom and Edward whipped his head to the front of the stage, breaking into a run. The crowd was thinning now, and he could see Mustang running towards the front of the ballroom too. It was probably only a matter of seconds before he caught sight of Hawkeye, standing over the twitching figure of Bobby Carlsberg with a gun firmly aimed at his head. Her dress had ripped: a thousand diamond crystals were scattered around the two of them, sparkling in the growing pool of blood despite the wound Bobby was desperately trying to staunch.

“Get the medics here, sir,” she said firmly, shrugging off the hand that tried to lower her gun. “We’re not risking him dying out on this floor so his operation keeps going.”

Mustang sighed and nodded, turning towards one of the approaching undercover servers. He looked pale – almost as pale as Bobby, who was busy swearing black and blue that he’d get her for this, the cocksucker –

Edward stood next to her, and she shook her head, gaze and gun still firmly aimed at Bobby. “You don’t need to see this,” she told him firmly. “Havoc and Breda will be here in a moment to escort you out-”

“But-”

“That is an order, Fullmetal,” she said tightly. “Go.”

A warm hand clapped on his back. “We’ll be alright here Edward,” Roy’s voice came from his right, his hand steering him away from the situation before him. “Simon here is going to deliver you to where Sergeant Fuery is. He’ll bring you back to Headquarters after you’ve been checked over.”

“The Lieutenant-”

“She’ll be fine.” The Colonel’s tone was worryingly hesitant. “We’ll see you back for the debriefing soon.”

Said debriefing took a lot longer than the briefing had: Edward was sure he had started to doze off towards the end as leaders from Team Arthur and Bruno recounted their version of events for the record. As far as he could tell, the operation had gone as smoothly as could be expected: Bobby, most importantly, had been captured alive, and so had a number of his associates. The child who was to be sold off had also been successfully located in a separate sting that happened elsewhere at the same time.

Edward recounted his own version of events quickly: “Some guy tried to pull me away but I stabbed him and then punched him to make sure he didn’t run off.” Hughes sat next to him on the couch, writing away furiously in a notebook. After what felt like hours, he closed it and stretched his hand.

“The rest can happen tomorrow. The details are all accounted for,” he told Mustang. “Your job is done, and Central Headquarters thanks you for your service.”

Mustang nodded and waved his hand in a dismissive fashion. “Everybody get some rest tonight,” he called out as they began to shuffle out of the office. Edward blearily opened his eyes – when had he shut them? – and spied the Lieutenant sitting opposite him, curled up with a dinner jacket resting loosely on her shoulders.

“You did some quick thinking tonight,” she told him, pride evident in her voice. “I’m sorry it came to that.”

Edward shrugged. “We caught the bad guy,” he said simply.

“Hardly a good reason,” Hawkeye replied, standing up and stretching her arms above her head. He could see the need for the jacket now – in the fight with Bobby, a whole section of the dress had torn down the side. Diamonds were hanging on by mere threads, and Edward quickly ducked his head when he realised he could see the skin stretching over her ribcage, already marred with dark purple bruises. She nodded at Hughes, before wrapping the jacket tighter around herself, and slipped into Mustang’s office.

Edward let himself doze once more and was dimly aware of a blanket being draped over him.

Later, he woke to the smell of takeaways and low chatter and got himself a plate, sitting next to his brother and hearing his versions of events. From what he gathered, it had been very boring with Sergeant Fuery for Alphonse; it was only within the last five minutes before all hell broke loose that he could pick up on anything exciting.

However, there had been a friendly stray in the alleyway behind their building and so Alphonse had spent most of his time playing games with the cat and talking to the soldiers positioned there. Edward let himself drift off while Alphonse continued to talk, watching the remaining soldiers talk in low tones to each other over heaping piles of chips and fried rice. It struck him as strange that he hadn’t seen neither the Colonel or the Lieutenant since the food had arrived – glancing towards the door that led to the inner office, Edward made up his mind to let them know, if nobody else was going to. Almost everyone had gone home by this stage; the outer office was nearly empty as he walked towards the door that was left slightly ajar.

In hindsight, that should’ve been his first warning.

His hand was raised ready to knock as he pushed on the door – the heavy wood gave way under the pressure of his hand slowly, and Edward paused as he took in the scene before him.

The light was low in the office, as the two of them sat on top of the desk, looking out over the parade grounds. Hawkeye had discarded the jacket – which Edward realised was Mustang’s dinner jacket and was resting her head on his shoulder. In the dim light, he could almost make out their hands intertwined as they spoke to one another in low tones.

It was hard to look away, and even harder when Mustang turned and pressed a soft kiss onto her bare shoulder.

A hand reached out from behind Edward and pulled back the oak door. He twisted jerkily, so tired at this point he didn’t have the energy to cry out in surprise.

Hughes raised his eyebrows deliberately as he shut the door with a definitive click. “Not now, kid,” he said quietly, guiding Edward back towards where the remaining men were, dealing out cards and promising to go easy on Alphonse. “That’s a story for another time.”