#maybe hawkeye is not the best at preening others

[extrashortshorts]

Colorful chickens again

[flourchildwrites]

While I still have to read Bound By(sooon) how about a fictober prompt? If you dont have anything planned yet, either "fight" or "trapped" for royai? Thanks! Im loving what Ive read so far!

Witch, Please!  Fictober 2019  (13/31)

A multi-fandom Fictober prompt compilation.  Your wish is my command, but be careful what you ask for.  You just might get it.

For @dvltgr

Prompt:   “Fight” from Writetober 2019 Prompt List

Fandom:  Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types

Relationship/Pairing:  Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang

Genre:  Pre-Canon, Young!Royai

Rating:  Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count:  1,726 words

Read on AO3

Dinner at Hawkeye Manor was a pleasant affair for those who were accustomed to long stretches of loaded silence. After three years of dining in a conversation vacuum, Roy Mustang had gotten used to it.

Berthold Hawkeye took his meals with his nose pressed between the pages of the newspaper while his daughter balanced the checkbook. Clinking silverware and chiming glass accompanied the pungent smell of printer’s ink as the tip of Riza’s pencil scratched against the household’s ledger. The set of the fourteen-year old’s blonde brow spoke volumes about the solvency of the Hawkeye estate, and judging from recent observations, Roy braced himself for another hard winter. He wrote home to his Aunt Chris, asking for sweet treats, a thick pair of gloves and extra blankets to see him through, intending to put the letter to post the next morning before his lessons.

“What are you doing?”

Riza’s voice was not entirely jarring, but the sudden urgency of the question caught Roy off guard. He flinched, nearly jumped out of his skin and pivoted in his chair, staring back at the knock-kneed tomboy as if he had seen a ghost. Admittedly, she had been looking paler lately; the threadbare quality of her clothes emphasized that fact.

“Writing a letter to my Aunt. Why?”

“The one who lives in Central?”

“Yes.” Roy supposed he hadn’t quite explained that he only had one aunt, that he knew of at least, but wasn’t about to start now. “Why?” Roy’s voice carried an edge that he hadn’t quite anticipated.

“Sorry,” he added, apologetically, “I’ve got a lot to do here, and you startled me. Is there something you need, Riza?”

Reluctance was not an emotion that Riza wore all that often or all that well. She fiddled with the frayed end of her baby blue sweater, refusing to meet his eyes as she spoke. “You should go into town to mail that letter this evening so it’ll go out on the morning train,” she said. “I’ll set aside some dinner for you. I’ll even give you an extra slice of dessert. It’s peach cobbler.”

“That will take almost an hour, and I don’t want an extra slice of dessert,” Roy retorted. “I can just give the letter to the postman tomorrow morning. One day won’t make a difference.”

Still stroking the hem of her clothing, Riza’s tone became impassioned. She looked up to meet the gaze of her father’s apprentice. “It might freeze tomorrow night, and the mail to Central could be delayed for weeks. Could you please, Roy? I- I need to talk to my father, and I think it’d be best if you were out.”

Roy opened his mouth to argue but stopped as the puzzle pieces fit together, forming a more precise picture in his mind. Riza needed to speak with her father, which she never did. She’d made Professor Hawkeye’s favorite food, peach cobbler, which they rarely could afford. Riza was offering Roy an extra slice of dessert - possible her own - because it was the only bargaining chip she had to offer.

He’d be an ass to refuse her request at this point. Aunt Chris had taught him better than that.

“Fine,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Roy glanced out the window as the wind gusted through the trees, knocking burnish yellow, brown and orange leaves from the branches. He shivered at the thought of a long, lonely walk down the dusty country road.

…

Roy returned later than intended with frozen toes and cheeks red and raw from the cold. As he stepped into the entryway and stamped his boots against the mat, Roy heard raised voices coming from their small kitchen, the place he usually ate dinner.

“I give you food. I give you shelter. I provide for a first-rate education, and what has that school imposed on us! The clothes on your back are fine as they are, and I should write that school an impassioned letter to protest non-academic endeavors. End of discussion.” Berthold’s raised voice loomed through the wooden walls of the dilapidated country home.

“All the other girls enjoy the cotillion,” Riza stressed. Her tone was high and shrill. “I don’t want to ruin it for everyone, but the nice dress I have doesn’t fit. I asked my teacher if I could help prepare and serve the food again with the lower grades, but she said no. I’m to be judged on table etiquette this year and dancing next year. The cotillion is one-sixth of my overall grade, Father!”

“Table etiquette and dancing!” Berthold scoffed. “I’m not going to allow you to spend a quarter of our monthly budget on frivolities such as shoes and dresses that you’ll wear once. What you have is sufficient.”

“Please, Father. I already tried letting out the seams. See? The hem is too far above my knees, and my chest-”

Roy crept close to the doorframe. He walked softly to muffle the sound of his footsteps against the hardwood and pressed his back against the wall. The apprentice stilled his breath to hear his master’s low, cruel utterance.

“Maybe you should eat less. It fit your mother fine when she was your age.”

There was a beat of silence as the weight of his words settled and wreaked their havoc. Roy’s fists tightened. His teeth clenched, and he heard the soft shuffling of fabric and shoes against the kitchen’s checkerboard floor as Riza darted into the hall.

He caught sight of her as she passed and was surprised to find Riza wearing a lacey white dress gone yellow with age. The delicate layers sat too high on her hips, and the button-up back was taut.  The effect strained the natural curves of her figure in places where the garment should have comfortably fallen. In the split-second their eyes met, she turned away and darted up the stairs toward her room.

As Roy followed in Riza’s footsteps, he stopped off at the small apprentice dormitory to discard his jacket, boots and scarf but caught sight of the dinner on his desk before he could peel the layers from his skin. As promised, there sat an extra serving a peach cobbler and a note thanking him for his discretion. The sight hurt Roy’s heart just as much as the soft sobs coming from the other side of the hallway.

He sat down to write another letter to his Aunt Chris and told himself that he didn’t mind two brisk walks through the bitter cold on the same evening.

…

If the crates stacked in the entryway of Hawkeye Manor bothered Berthold, he paid them little mind. The postman begrudgingly lugged them in from his wagon with sideways remarks about the size and weight that Roy pretended not to hear. It took the young man four trips to carry the wooden boxes to his second-story dormitory and twenty minutes more to recover from his exertions. But the content of crates far surpassed any expectations he might have had when he asked his Aunt if his sisters had a nice dress to spare.

Chris Mustang’s note was, as she, straightforward and to the point.

Roy-boy,

A dress is useless without shoes, coats and accessories. Your sisters have no need of these as they are from last year. See that they find a good home.

Aunt Chris

All that was left was to wait for Riza to return home from school.

…

“Oh, Riza,” Roy called out, pleased as a preening peacock, “could you come here a moment. I have a favor to ask.”

Roy waited with growing impatience for her to turn the corner and smiled like the Cheshire cat when her indignant scowl fell, quickly replaced by a look of wonder. At least a dozen dresses and coats of all colors and styles were laid over the two vacant beds in the dormitory. An entire jewelry box of ornate rings, bejeweled earnings and long strands of pearls sat casually on Roy’s nightstand. And in the corner of the room, a large crate of purses and high-heeled shoes sat, still waiting to be unpacked.

“My silly sisters thought you might be interested in some of their old dresses,” he started. “And I told them that, of course, you wouldn’t want last year’s styles, but they insisted, and here we are. Might you consider taking these off my hands? I’d hate to send them back.”

Riza approached the dresses with equal parts hesitation and fascination, running the back of her hand along the frilly sleeve of a shimmering, soft pink dress and burying her fingers in a fur-lined coat that, Roy realized, once belonged to his own Aunt. Then, suddenly, her awe turned sour as she shook her head to rid her eyes of the marvels before them.

“I can’t accept these, Roy,” she said sadly. “We can’t afford-”

“Oh, please,” Roy interrupted. He’d prepared himself for this particular argument. “No one would be caught dead in these clothes in Central City. And I realize it will be a hassle to take them in, but I’d hate to have to haul these to the post office. It’s so far away, and the weather is absolutely terrible this time of year.”

Roy hoped against hope that, just this once, she wouldn’t be so stubborn, and he was rewarded by a teary-eyes gaze that caught the reflection of the many metallic bobbles glinting in her new jewelry box. Riza gathered the clothing in her arms and looked at Roy with a heartbreaking grin that stretched the corners of her heart-shaped face.

“Thank you,” was all she said in reply.

Through the lump in his throat, Roy grumbled his own response. “Don’t mention it.”

He couldn’t go to the dance with her and probably would not spend another winter under Berthold’s tutelage. Neither could Roy change his master’s mind once it had been made up nor lessen the burden of her lonely life. But if he could play some small part in a brief moment of happiness, the young man decided he would take that chance, if not for altruistic reasons then selfish ones. If only so that when Riza would smile, all decked out in her finery as she departed for the cotillion, Roy would know he was responsible for it.

He would fight for her well-being, even after she herself had surrendered.

A/N:  Thank you so much for the prompt. I hope you like it even though I took royai and made it young!royai.  Today, I woke up thinking about my grandmother and a particular conversation she had with my father about a prom dress.  So, I guess this one it a little for her as well.  Feel free to send me pairing requests for particular prompts (Fictober or original) via my tumblr, and if you read something you like, don’t hesitate to let me know. Your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes and reblogs make my day!

[setaripendragon]

The Light of a Pole Star - Part 3

Okay, this part was a lot of fun. The whole birthday scene came out of nowhere as I was writing, it was a complete aside that turned into an actually important plot point XD Also, Maes’s voice will always and forever sound like Opalsong’s reading of The Demon Alchemist series in my head.

“You know your boy is hopelessly in love with you, don’t you?”

“My- Are you talking about FullMetal?”

“Mmhm.”

“He’s fourteen.”

“Mm, I don’t think he is. Not really.”

“He really is.”

“Don’t be so literal, Roy, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I know what you mean, Madame, but it’s still- I can’t just ignore-”

“Ahh…! Is my baby boy falling in love, too?”

“What? No! That’s not-! He’s a child! I would never-!”

“Pfft. Of course you wouldn’t. I raised you better than that.”

“You did.”

“But he’s not going to be a child forever, Roy. He’s not even going to be a child for much longer.”

“…I know.”

“I’d let him work here in a couple of years. Maybe even one, given how world-weary he seems.”

“World-weary. That’s a good phrase for it. Speaking of, how’s Nina doing?”

“Oh, she’s as precocious as you were, Roy-Boy. She’s recovering well.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“I’ll have someone drop some pictures off with Maes for you.”

“Oh, good god, alright. I’m sure FullMetal will appreciate some as well.”

“Speaking of, I hear his fifteenth birthday isn’t too far off.”

“Mother…!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Roy, I’m helping you out here.”

“How, exactly?”

“Have you thought about what to get him for his birthday?”

“If you’re about to suggest something salacious, let me cut you off now and say; don’t.”

“Heheh. Only a little salacious. He’s fifteen, I think he can handle a Vittori.”

“A- One of the Vittori reproductions? Really? Why on earth-?”

“Call it a hunch.”

The Hughes residence is packed to bursting. Ed feels distinctly uncomfortable, being at the center of all this attention and effort, but it’s also kind of nice. He isn’t super keen on the idea of celebrating his birthday. He has eight of them rattling around inside his skull, plus two namedays, and a soulday. This one in particular gets lost in amongst the others too easily for him to care very much. Still, Teacher’s visiting, and so is Winry, and a woman who introduced herself as Roy’s foster-sister has brought Nina round, and Roy’s whole team have come, and Gracia has made a freaking fantastic triple chocolate cake.

Al is sitting on the floor a few feet away from the couch where Ed is sitting, passing Elysia crayons for her colouring, and Nina had two slices of cake and is now chattering Winry’s ear off, and Hughes is taking pictures of everyone and everything like a maniac, and Roy’s sister is flirting with Havoc, which seems to be mortifying both Havoc and Roy, which is hilarious. And Teacher is chatting with Gracia and Riza over mugs of tea from her place in Sig’s lap.

It’s good, Ed decides. It’s just good to be surrounded by friends and family and to take one day off from the pressure of righting his wrongs and fixing his mistakes. He’ll get back to the quest to restore Al’s body tomorrow, but today, he has permission to relax a little. It’s good.

“Is it time for presents yet?” Nina asks abruptly, abandoning Winry to throw herself half over the back of the couch, feet in the air and tail wagging, which puts her head somewhere in the vicinity of Ed’s shoulder. “Big brother! You need to open all your presents!”

“Good idea, Nina!” Hughes enthuses, and then suddenly everyone is bustling about retrieving their gifts for him and depositing them on the table. A lot of them, Ed is delighted to see, are book-shaped. Then Hughes holds Elysia up so that she can very solemnly hand Ed the card she’d made for him. It’s covered in glue and glitter, and of course the glitter goes everywhere, and Winry winces when it gets on Ed’s automail, but even she can’t deny that it’s utterly adorable.

“Mine next!” Nina insists, so Ed opens up the clumsily wrapped package she thrusts at him. It turns out to be a hand-knitted scarf, which Ed suspects is the result of Roy’s Mum’s attempts to keep Nina occupied and out of trouble. It’s a little wonky and uneven, but it’s a bright, eye-searing red, and it was made with love, so Ed wraps it around his neck at once and preens. Winry gets him a set of automail maintenance tools, like she always does in a passive-aggressive attempt to remind him to take care of his automail, and Granny sent on a book titled Beginner’s Guide to Combustion Engines, because she thinks she’s hilarious, and only Teacher and Al really get why it pisses him off so much.

Teacher got him a proper Xerxesian kattari, which she must have made herself, and Ed freaks out for a moment, because what idiot decides to take up blacksmithing – even alchemically enhanced blacksmithing – when they’re sick? Sig shares a commiserating look with him when he hands over all the extra bits and pieces Ed needs to maintain the blade. And in keeping with the theme – had they collaborated? – Al got him a book about the few Xerxesian alchemists that history remembers with a handwritten note inside that says ‘you can tell me all the things they got wrong – love, Al’.

Hughes got him a photo album half filled with pictures of Ed and Al and the people they know, with space left over for more, and Gracia added a pile of blank journals to the gift, which Ed definitely appreciates. The rest of Roy’s team all got him various books; a massive scientific treatise from Falman, a recent alchemist’s autobiography from Fuery, a fascinating obscure book about spiritual symbology in alchemy from Hawkeye, a book about the art of making fireworks from Breda. Havoc, on the other hand, had got him a swear-jar. Which sends Ed into hysterics.

Then Roy’s sister – Vanessa – hands over a small, prettily-wrapped package, and Ed splutters a little about how she didn’t have to, he doesn’t even know her, what the hell. She just laughs at him. “I insist. Auntie Chris insisted. At least as a thank you for making Roy’s work stories so much more interesting.”

“Oh, well, um, okay then, I guess?” Ed says, and sets to opening the packet. It turns out to be a couple of pretty hair-clips. Nothing so ornate as to be mockingly ‘girly’, but whoever made them paid just as much attention to form as function. If he wears them day-to-day, he’s going to end up worrying about damaging them. Not that he ever does anything creative with his hair anyway, so it’s a bit moot.

Roy looks mortified, though, so that’s definitely a plus. And, in the spirit of winding him up as much as possible, Ed decides ‘fuck it’ and tugs the band off the end of his braid, shaking his hair out and tugging the top half back into the clip he likes the best. It’s a style he’d worn a lot when he was Proteus, one that Huang had always gotten distracted by when they were researching together. “Thanks!” He says brightly to Vanessa, who looks so gleeful Ed figures she’s caught on to his plot to torment Roy and approves.

“Alright, I suppose it’s my turn, is it?” Roy asks, resigned.

He slides a large square present out from where it had been leaning against the side-cabinet thing that Gracia keeps knick-knacks and Elysia’s toys in, and hands it to Ed over the table before stepping back. There’s an odd touch of apprehension about him, nothing obvious, just a stiffness in his pleasant expression that suggests it’s taking effort to keep it in place.

Ed lays the present on his lap and studies the shape of it. “It’s a picture-frame.” He decides after a moment of feeling the edges.

“The purpose of presents is to unwrap them, FullMetal.” Roy drawls.

“The purpose of giving presents is to shut up and be nice, Colonel Bastard.” Ed retorts, but he does tear into the wrapping paper, and peel the picture out of it. And then he freezes, heart racing and head spinning, because that- that’s him. Or well, technically, it’s her, when he was a her. He presses a hand to his mouth to stop himself blurting out something stupid, and just… stares.

It’s not the original, he can tell right away, but it’s an excellent reproduction. Ed-when-he-was-Lucia is sitting naked in an unmade – and very rumpled – bed dressed in off-white linens underneath a wide window letting in a spill of brilliant morning light that picks out the amber tones of Lucia’s tanned skin and the golden tones of her light brown hair, which is twisted up into a messy, careless bun pinned in place by a paintbrush, many loose strands curling about her neck and shoulders. There’s ink and graphite stains on her fingers and thighs, and love-bites dappled across her neck, chest, and wrists. She’s sitting sort of cross-legged, one knee tucked uselessly under the light sheet and the other propped up so that she can lean a notebook on it and scribble down her ideas.

Several people are asking what it is, and Havoc and Hughes and Hawkeye all shuffle around the back of the couch to peer at it over Ed’s shoulders. Havoc lets out an impressed wolf-whistle, while Hawkeye says, in a carefully neutral tone of Stern Disapproval; “That’s a bit inappropriate, isn’t it, sir?”

Which, no. No, Ed’s not going to let that stand, because it’s not. The moment hadn’t even been sexual, except that they had just had lazy morning sex. But then Ed- Lucia had had an idea, and she’d flung herself out of Fiametta’s arms to find something to write it down with. Only then had she realised that she’d just abandoned her new lover without regard in favour of science, and she’d looked up expecting annoyance and exasperation, only to find Fiametta grinning and looking at her like she was the most perfect thing in the whole world. So Lucia had gone back to bed and settled in to write down her notes, and she’d gotten so absorbed she hadn’t even noticed Fiametta going for her sketchbook, and then her paints, until several hours later.

At which point she’d taken one look at the first attempt, and punched her in the arm for ‘making me look ridiculous, you complete sap’. The consequent versions had only gotten more ridiculous, because Fiametta had decided it was her purpose in life to wind Lucia up like that at every available opportunity.

It’s not inappropriate at all, except for the fact that Roy has no idea what he’s saying with this picture because he doesn’t know. Ed looks up at Teacher, the only one who gets it, and she raises an eyebrow at him, smug. ‘He doesn’t know he knows, but he does know.’ Ed thinks, and it’s… Good is something of an understatement.

Roy is fumbling for an explanation under Hawkeye’s stern stare, trying to play it off as a combination tasteless joke and attempt at winding Ed up, but Ed isn’t listening. He carefully leans the paining against the back of the couch and gets up. Roy’s faux-blasé defence trails off as Ed rounds the table, walks right into him, and hugs him tight. He’s in civilian dress, so it’s actually comfortable to hug him, and as Roy’s body-heat soaks through to him, Ed silently mourns the fact that he can’t just stay like this forever. “Thanks. I love it.” He says quietly.

“…You’re welcome.” Roy replies, just as quietly, carefully setting his hands on Ed’s back, not quite returning the hug, but something close to it.

“Huh.” Hughes says, in his scheming-voice. “I didn’t know you were a fan of Vittori, Edward.” He remarks lightly.

Teacher snorts.

“You shut up.” Ed grumbles at her, pointing in her direction without looking. He forces himself to let go of Roy before the hug becomes awkward, and turns to Hughes to try and explain his overly-emotional reaction to an indecent portrait of a long dead Aerugonian alchemist. “She did a good series on alchemy.” He states, crossing his arms defensively and feeling his face heat up.

“Hey, it’s okay, Boss. You’re at that age where-” Havoc begins, his tone gleefully mocking because he’s obviously a sadistic fuck.

“No. Nope.” Ed sticks his fingers in his ears. “LALALALALA!”

Ed is minding his own business, grabbing a quick lunch at a bakery a few streets away from the library, when out of fucking nowhere, Hughes slides into the seat opposite him with a cheerful “Hi, Ed!” and the sort of smile that makes Ed realise why most people find his grins a little unnerving.

“Uh, hi, Hughes.” He greets warily.

“Oh, please, Maes is fine.” Hughes – Maes – insists. “This is a social call.”

Ed gives him a dubious look. “Well it looks kind of like stalking.” He counters, and then takes a huge bite of his pasty. Maybe if he finishes quickly he can escape back into the library.

“That’s hurtful, Ed.” Maes protests, sounding entirely insincere. Ed makes an indistinct ‘mrmph’ noise around his mouthful. “I just wanted to know what your intentions are towards my best friend.” He announces, and although he’s definitely joking, tone jovial and eyes bright, there’s a thread of something a little more serious underneath.

Ed swallows hard, coughs a little, and then starts laughing. Because trust Maes Hughes to see that there’s more to Ed than a fifteen year old with a crush. “Well, I guess my intentions right now are to wait until he won’t have a panic attack if I jump him, and then jump him. Repeatedly. Preferably for the rest of our lives.” He answers, just as light-hearted as Maes, with just as much truth underneath.

Maes’s smile becomes a lot less sharp, softens into something that doesn’t make Ed want to flee to the safety of the library anymore. “How long a wait is that going to be?” He wonders, without any hint as to what he thinks the right answer is.

“Well, I had it from a reliable source when I was twelve that I’d be eligible for moderately respectable sex work in five years, so that’s only two more to go.” Ed replies lightly. Maes blinks at him for a moment, which isn’t the reaction Ed was expecting, but then he laughs. Cackles, really. “What’s funny?” He asks dubiously.

“Madame Christmas told you that, did she?” Maes asks pointedly.

Ed stares at him. “You…” He stops, and wonders if the synchronicity of his lives could get any more ridiculous. “Wait, let me guess. She’s got something to do with Roy, doesn’t she? Oh, that fucker.” He exclaims, eyes widening. “That’s how he knew to get me that painting! She fucking told him, didn’t she? Oh my fucking-!”

“Mm, yes. I think it was one of hers, originally. She likes to hang what she calls ‘dignified pornography’ on the walls of her upstairs business.” Maes confirms.

Ed whines and puts his head down on the table. “Next you’ll be telling me Roy grew up there or some shit.” He complains.

“As a matter of fact, he did.” Maes confirms, sounding intrigued, and Ed just groans, because, okay, he walked right into that one. “When she’s not working, she goes by Chris Mustang.” Maes adds, and at that, Ed sits up again.

“She’s Roy’s mum?”

“Biologically? His aunt. But she raised him ever since his parents died. So, yes, that’s who he means when he talks about his mother.” Maes explains. “But going back to that painting, Ed.” He goes on abruptly.

Ed huffs, going a little pink. “What about it?”

“I had a long chat with the Madame after your birthday. You said some very interesting things in between being very, very cryptic, and bringing up conversations you never actually had with Roy about old Aerugonian painters.” Maes states, resting his forearms on the table as he leans in and watches Ed with a pointedly patient expression.

Ed narrows his eyes. “We did too talk about renaissance painters.”

“Yes, but not Vittori.” Maes stresses. “And nice dodge, by the way.”

“Well, I was talking about Vittori, and he got the story right, so it’s not my fault if he didn’t realise, and only got it right because he’s that much like a perverted lesbian hedonist from the fifteenth century.” Ed retorts. “And I didn’t dodge shit. I just addressed the only point you actually made.”

Maes snorts, and leans back in his chair with a sigh. “You’re going to be very good for Roy, you know, when he manages to pull his head out of his ass. He needs someone like you in his life to keep him honest, keep him from twisting himself up into contortions with all the games he likes to play.”

Ed eyes him for a long moment, because, hell, but that was a good summary of at least one of his lives in its entirety. The Xingese royal court was a pit of vipers. “Yeah.” He agrees shortly, but apparently even that is enough to put that worrying gleam of curiosity into Maes’s eyes again. This time it’s totally a dodge, and Ed doesn’t even care, when he says; “So, what were those interesting things you wanted to interrogate me about?”

“Oh, you know…” Maes says, with entirely and obviously feigned nonchalance. “Treason.”

Ed snorts. “Yeah? Is this you delivering Roy’s official pitch?”

“No, Ed. This is me asking how the hell you even knew there was a pitch.” Maes sighs, no longer light-hearted at all. He’s watching Ed carefully, worried, and it makes Ed feel bad. He hadn’t meant to make Maes paranoid about discovery. But of course, if a teenage wildcard like him could figure it out, anyone who didn’t know that the knowledge came from lifetimes of experience with Roy and his masks and his stupid doublespeak bullshit and his penchant for self-sacrificial righteousness would be forgiven for assuming that one of the Generals, or the Fuhrer himself, might be able to see it, too.

Ed could lie, or dodge again, or something, but he doesn’t want to make Maes’s life harder than it has to be. He’s a good friend to Roy, and he’s been a good friend to Ed, too, so far. “I bet you looked into Valentino’s Bar, huh?” He asks.

Maes narrows his eyes, but plays along. “What do you take me for, Ed? Of course I did. Headquarters for one of the most successful Aerugonian resistance forces this side of the border in a hundred years before they blew the place up. I looked into this Malka person you mentioned too. And believe me, I’m dying to know what a border scuffle and a mullah from eighty years ago have to do with Roy, but I’d like to know about the treason thing first.”

“Valentino’s Bar.” Ed holds up his hand, and then ticks each point off on his fingers as he goes. “The Wolfsbane killings. Knyazhna Tatiana Nikiforova. The assassination of General Maultier. The Riviere Traders. The first Xingese Empress.” Ed pauses. “I think that’s… No, wait, you can probably count the Second Drachman Revolution, too, really, although you may have to dig pretty deep to figure that one out.”

“I recognise a few of those.” Maes acknowledges.

Ed nods emphatically, as though it must be obvious even though he knows Maes probably won’t understand. “That’s how I knew. I don’t think anyone else has made the connections, though, so you don’t need to panic.”

Maes stares at him for a long, long moment. “Challenge accepted.” He says finally.

Laughing, Ed shakes his head at him. “If anyone can figure it out, I’d put my money on you, Maes.” He offers, and Maes beams at him.

“Your faith in me is heartwarming, Ed. Almost as heartwarming as my beautiful daughter!” Maes enthuses, and Ed resigns himself to watching the man parade out a stream of photographs of Elysia. At least, since he’s not required to say more than ‘aww’ and ‘wow’ every now and then, he actually has a chance finish his pasty.

This goes on until Ed’s almost finished eating, and then Maes, with well practised insincerity, checks his watch and says; “Oops! Looks like my lunch break is over!” And sweeps all of his photos back into his pocket and stands up while Ed is still chewing on his last bite. “See you later, Ed.”

“Mrmph.” Ed says again, nodding.

Maes chuckles. “And, one last thing, Ed?” He says, pausing on his way past Ed’s chair. Ed looks up at him with his eyebrows raised, and Maes hands him a little folded up piece of paper. “Don’t wait too long. Roy will keep you at arms length forever if you let him, because he’s got a martyr complex the size of the Eastern Desert. We’re working on him, but he could do with a reminder from you that you’re older than you look.”

Then he’s gone, and Ed’s left staring at empty space in confusion. If he’s translating Maes-speak right, that was a ‘well, I think you should jump him now’. He looks down at the paper in his hand and unfolds it, only to find nothing but an address written there, and he’d bet his other arm and leg that it’s Roy’s. Maes is an interfering matchmaker, and Ed doesn’t know whether to be pissed off or grateful.

Ed decides Maes’ gift is too good to let it go to waste, so the next time he’s back in East, he breaks into Roy’s house while the man’s still at work and makes himself at home. When Ed had told Al his plan, Al had given him one of those inexplicably readable looks of his where he’s judging every single one of Ed’s life choices in every single one of his lives, and then he sighed and wished him luck, which is why Al is best little brother in the whole wide world.

When Roy gets back, Ed is happily ensconced in Roy’s living room with half the books from Roy’s personal library spread out around him, a fire blazing in the grate, a ridiculously snug blanket over his shoulders, and a mug of some weird fancy tea at his elbow. Roy, of course, comes in warily, prepared for an intruder, fingers poised to snap, and stops dead in the doorway, staring. “FullMetal?”

“Hey, Bastard.” Ed will call Roy ‘Roy’ to his face when Roy calls him ‘Edward’ again. “Shut the damn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

Roy is so off-balance that he actually does as he’s told. Ed will have to remember that trick. Then he returns and goes right back to staring. “How did you get in?”

“Transmuted the lock, obviously.” Ed informs him. “I can show you how to alchemically booby-trap your locks later, if you like.”

Roy sighs in long-suffering exasperation. “How did you even know where I live?”

“How did you even know I’m a fan of Vittori?” Ed retorts.

“Touché.” Roy admits, and then just stands there, staring in bewilderment.

Ed glances up from his book at last, and gives the man a judging look. “Well don’t just stand there like an idiot, idiot. Go order some take-out and then come explain to me why the hell you have bullshit like Dee’s Hierarchy of Elements on your shelf.”

“FullMetal…”

“Food, Bastard.” Ed insists.

Sighing again like the melodramatic bastard he is, Roy goes to call for take-out. While he’s doing that, Ed clears a space for him on the couch, shifting books he’d left lying open beside him when he got caught up in something else. Roy comes back, eyes the newly open space, and then gingerly seats himself. “FullMetal.” He says again.

“I’d say ‘that’s my name, Bastard, don’t wear it out’ except, you know, it’s not.” Ed says pointedly.

Another sigh. “What are you doing?”

“Investigating your personal book collection.” Ed replies immediately. “It’s not half bad, honestly. Although, seriously, what’s with Dee’s shit? His theories were debunked decades ago.”

“Most of his theories were debunked.” Roy counters, and the next half hour is full of good-natured bickering and alchemical debate. Then the food arrives, and the next hour passes by the same way, except now with really good food, too. The conversation takes a slightly darker turn as they dive into discussing human transmutation, biological alchemy, soul alchemy, and the difference between them, but even then, Ed feels more hopeful about his quest than he has in a while now, revved up with new determination because Roy might not have as much knowledge as Ed on the subject, but he’s painfully insightful, and so good at coming up with the things Ed’s missed.

Shit, but Ed loves him.

And it must be written all over his face because Roy falters in what he’s saying, in whatever argument he was making, and his expression turns conflicted and uncertain. Ed hates it. “Don’t.” Ed says, before Roy can say anything. Roy closes his mouth, but doesn’t look any less pained.

“Edward…” He says, half chiding, half pleading.

“Roy.” Ed returns, wry. Roy sucks in a sharp breath. “It’s okay, you know.”

“You’re half my age.” Roy retorts, sounding agonised.

He’s not exactly wrong, even if he’s not exactly right, either. Ed sighs, and looks down at the blanket that’s now draped over both of them. He picks at the edge of it with his automail hand. “Yeah. Why d’you think I haven’t actually made a move on you yet?”

Roy huffs a weird little half-laugh at that. “This isn’t you making a move?” He asks dryly.

Ed snorts. “Believe me, bastard, when I make a move on you, you’ll fucking know about it.”

“Literally, I suppose.” Roy muses wickedly, and then winces. “Sorry, that was-”

“If you say inappropriate, I’m gonna hit you.” Ed warns him, holding up his flesh hand in a fist in warning. Roy very pointedly presses his lips together and doesn’t say a word. “Cause it isn’t inappropriate, it’s fucking true. But I’m not stupid, you know. I do get that you’d feel kind of skeevy if we did anything yet, so- so I’m waiting. That doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend that there’s even the slightest fucking chance I’d pick anyone else in the world but you.”

Roy’s eyes go wide, and then he closes them. He leans in, and for a moment Ed thinks he’s going to kiss him, but instead he just leans their foreheads together. “You can’t know that for sure.” He whispers, sounding like it hurts to say it.

“I can.” Ed insists. “I do.”

“I know you’ve seen more of the world than most people your age, and I know that- that there’s more to you than just a fifteen year old hellion, but you shouldn’t tie yourself to me before you’ve had a chance to- to explore, and-”

“Idiot.” Ed huffs.

“I’m serious, Edward-”

“I know you are, Roy, that’s why you’re an idiot.” Roy pulls back to frown at him, and Ed wonders if Teacher is right, if he should tell him the whole truth. They’ve already been talking about souls half the evening, after all. But Ed… Ed isn’t quite ready to put himself that far out there when Roy is still battling his fucking conscience. It would feel… manipulative, or some shit. “Can I tell you a story?” He asks, instead.

“Can I stop you?” Roy answers wearily, but he’s smiling fondly, so Ed figures that’s not a no.

“Nope.” Ed squirms around until he’s comfortably leaning on Roy, and Roy hesitates only a moment before curling his arm around Ed’s shoulders. “Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a boy.” Ed begins, measuring out the words.

“A fairytale?” Roy wonders, sounding startled.

“Yeah, sort of.” Ed hedges, because no, it’s not, it’s his life – their lives – but he’s not going to tell Roy that just yet. “Anyway, so this boy, he had real shit luck. Like, the shittiest. His parents died in a landslide when he was four, and not even a year later, he got nabbed by fucking slavers and carted off into the desert to be sold to some rich asshole who thought he was hot shit and that it somehow made him look good to have a tiny ‘exotic’ little boy serving drinks at his stupid parties, and not like a complete shit-stain.”

“That does sound unfortunate.” Roy comments, sounding confused.

“Yeah, but this kid, right, this kid was resilient, and clever. He made this plan. Cause, see, in Xerxes-”

“Oh, is that where this is set?”

“Yeah, shut up. In Xerxes, academia was everything. If you were smart, if you could make a valuable contribution to the Great Library, you could earn your way up to the top, even if you started out a slave. Even if you weren’t Xerxesian by birth. So that’s what he decided to do.” Ed pauses, thinking back and trying to sort an entire lifetime into something he could tell Roy and have it make sense. “One day, when he was out running errands or some shit, this slave just happened to be in the right place at the right time to see this building – one of the big manors for the Savants – collapse.”

“Savants?” Roy questions.

“It’s the best translation of the title. Like I said, the heirarchy in Xerxes was about academia, not the military, or inheritance, or anything like that. They were people who- who fucking revolutionised knowledge in whatever field of study. Being recognised as a Savant was, I don’t fucking know, like being a General, I guess, here. You’re powerful, and people kinda have to listen to you, and you get lots of perks and rewards and shit. There were also teachers and shit, Professors or whatever, which was basically one step sideways, not quite parallel, but… the State Alchemists, sort of?”

“I see.” Roy says, sounding a little bewildered. “So… so this manor collapsed?” He prompts.

“Yeah, and this boy- Well, he was a teenager, by today’s standards-”

“Today’s standards?”

“In Xerxes you were considered a child until you were twenty-five, on average.” Ed explains impatiently. “When you completed the standard education and could choose a speciality. Anyway-” Ed presses when it looks like Roy’s about to ask more questions. “So, this boy recognised an alchemical reaction when he saw one, and managed to pinpoint the source in amongst the rubble.”

“Who did he find?” Roy asks, which at least isn’t a distracting question.

“This kid. Nine years old, half crushed by rubble. His entire right arm was so much mush. He’d been being an idiot, trying to get his super-clever Savant grandmother to pay attention to him, and his circle had backfired on him and brought the whole house down. And this slave kid pushed this massive piece of masonry out of the way with one shoulder and grabbed the other kid with the other hand and just hauled him out of the mess he’d turned his entire life into. Carried him to the healers. Went right back and dug out the kid’s cousin. His grandmother was already dead, but if it hadn’t been for that slave, his cousin would have died before anyone got around to getting him out.”

“Edward…” Roy says slowly.

“I’m not finished, bastard, let me finish.” Ed retorts. Roy nods silently, so Ed forges on. “So this kid, this dumbass kid who destroyed his entire life all by himself because he couldn’t appreciate what he had when his dad was gone and his mum was dead, knew that he had to pay back this slave for saving him and his cousin. So he went and found him and taught him everything he knew, everything he got to learn just because he was born to an educated family. They studied together for years, ended up fucking revolutionising alchemy. Heh. The slave was elevated to Savant because he figured out that water is actually combustible if you pull it apart.”

“Is it really?” Roy asks, smirking. “I had no idea.”

Ed cackles. “Sure you didn’t.”

“I assume the other boy became a Savant, too?” Roy questions, giving Ed a soft look under faintly furrowed brows. Like he’s figured out Ed’s talking about them but still isn’t sure what the point is. Jokes on him, because that is the point.

“Yeah. He figured out some really cool architectural tricks. There’s so much cool shit you can do with rocks and sand if you really pay attention to the molecular structure. Like fixing fault-lines in otherwise apparently solid stone.” Ed explains with a grimace. Roy tugs him a little closer.

“I take it the boy’s cousin did recover, too?” Roy asks gently.

“Yeah.” Ed confirms. He knows Roy thinks he’s talking about Al, even though he’s not. Lyco hadn’t been much like Al, really. He’d been a daydreamer, kind but absent-minded, and he didn’t understand people at all, not the way Al did. Ed had loved him just as much, though. “Xerxes was pretty good with healing alchemy, so he got better eventually. And eventually, these two dumbasses got around to admitting that somewhere between the heroics and the research and the awards, they’d fallen in love. It didn’t really change that much, though, they still bickered over theories and played with alchemy together and spent most of their time side by side in the library. It was just that when they went home, they went to the same place, and sometimes they had sex, which was pretty fun.”

Roy makes a sound that’s trying to be a laugh, but is a little too strangled to manage. “I think I see your point, Edward-”

“Still not finished, bastard.” Ed interrupts. “So they got married, and eventually they got asked to tutor the royal children. Which, in case you can’t figure it out, was one of the very highest honours a person could be awarded in Xerxes. They probably couldn’t really have said no without being, like, shunned or something, but it didn’t really matter because… because they really enjoyed it. Not just teaching, which was frustrating as all hell but entirely worth it, but teaching those kids. They were hellraisers, don’t get me wrong, but they were so good, too. Getting to help them discover themselves? Discover the amazing things they could accomplish? Those two stupid boys loved that a whole hell of a lot. Queen Aesara was one of Xerxes most beloved rulers, and they were so proud of her.” Ed pauses, and collects himself. “And they lived happily ever after for the rest of their days or whatever shit. There, now I’m done.”

They sit in silence for a while. Ed doesn’t mind, although he’s a bit restless. “Is that the sort of thing you want from your future, then?” Roy asks eventually. “Teaching?”

“Eh.” Ed shrugs and tries to explain. “Maybe? But there’s lots of things I could do once I’ve fixed my fuck up and Al’s okay. Lots of fulfilling paths to take or whatever. Could teach. Could do research. Could become a doctor. Could open a restaurant. Could go into fucking journalism. Lots of ways to do good in the world. My point is… it’ll be better with you there. I want that. And I think you want that, too. To do whatever we end up doing together.”

He hears Roy swallow, and then let out a breath that shakes. “Yes, Edward. I want that, too.” He agrees. His arm tightens momentarily around Ed’s shoulders, and his head tips to lean his cheek against the top of Ed’s head, and then he turns so he can press an achingly gentle kiss to Ed’s hair. Ed turns into Roy and hides his smile against the man’s shoulder.

[freudensteins-monster]

Free Your Mind

Random Crossover Idea #29831: MCU x The Matrix

Steve Rogers had been THE ONE. Erskine had felt it the moment he saw the skinny kid arguing with his friend at the World’s Fair. In the end the kid hadn’t taken much the convincing; he’d wanted to change the world so damn badly. Erskine, together with Howard Stark (aware of the real world but uninterested in being unplugged), had brought Steve to the underground lab to injected him with ‘the serum’, a tracking program to help their real world operatives locate Steve’s body in one of Hydra’s many battery farms.

They had almost had him but Hydra interrupted the procedure, and in the battle Steve’s real world body had been lost. His connection with the Matrix hadn’t been severed though, and Steve Rogers emerged from the metal coffin a completely different man. Erskine had been in awe, his long search over. He’d known a few special individuals over the years who bend the rules of the Matrix but he’d never met anyone who could change their own coding the way Steve had.

“You’re the One,” he’d beamed, right before a Hydra agent took over the body of one of the Senators in the room and shot him through the heart.

Steve had been distraught to have his mentor die in his arms, and furious that he’d been denied an escape from the Matrix, but damned if he wasn’t going to make Hydra’s life hell for it.

Hydra threw everything it could at ‘Captain America’, but he’d made himself too strong, too smart. They’d even tried to break his heart by dropping his best friend from a speeding train, but still he kept coming after them. In the end they gave him an ultimatum; his own life, or the lives of a million batteries. Hydra, smug in its victory, had thought they’d seen the last of the troublesome human.

Several years later... Coulson had spent every day since Erskine died trying to find Steve Roger’s capsule. The original tracking program had been lost in the battle with the Hydra sentinels but he’d worked the problem every day until one glorious morning he’d been blessed with the faint flicker of a red dot on his much-mended screen. He jumped on the comms.

“Sir, I’ve found him.”

Steve whined as he comes too, the room far too bright. His struggle to sit up is ended by a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Easy, son. You’ll be okay.”

“Why do my eyes hurt?” he croaked weakly.

“...because you’ve never used them before.”

Despite knowing better the crew of the Triskellion had not expected their saviour to look so... small. Short, weak, and stick thin, it was a miracle Hydra had allowed such a faulty battery to survive so long. But if anything, it reinforced the crews belief that Steve was the One, because even in the years since his disappearance no one had managed to affect the own coding the way he had.

Banner came closest, but he couldn’t control it and his antics in the Matrix often did more harm than good. He preferred to stay out of the Matrix as much as possible, growing comfortable his role as the ship’s physician. The other crew members came to Fury’s attention for the way they bent the rules of the Matrix as easy as breathing. 

Hawkeye was an expert marksman. He never missed a shot no matter impossible the odds or ridiculous the situation. He had never quite made it through the jump program though and had fallen off more buildings, and into more dumpsters, than anyone cared to remember.

Widow had been taking down men twice her size long before she had the ability to upload fight programs, and she was the only known person to have survived possession by an Agent.

Stark had known about the Matrix for most of his life and twisted and bent it to his whims - he’d created his own goddamn element, for christsake. He had been unplugged from the Matrix as a necessity - Hydra were closing in on his pods location - and was far older than the usual candidates. He would have much preferred to have remained plugged into the Matrix, like his father before him, enjoying a certain level of comfort and luxury, and complained about it often.

Coulson had come to discover the Matrix through his boyhood obsession with Captain America, and had jumped at the chance to join Fury’s crew and lead the hunt for Steve Roger’s long lost pod.

After they’d rescued him and taken him down the long road of recovering from muscle atrophy, not that Steve had a lot of those to begin with, Coulson had become his rock in this strange real world. He answered every question Steve had and always had a comforting smile ready for him. Coulson thought it was utterly strange to be looked at like a surrogate father figure by the man he’d spent his entire life idolising, but he wouldn’t change a thing. Except maybe Darcy.

Darcy was their primary operator, being the only ‘free range’ human on board, and a damn fine programmer. But she gave Stark a run for her money in the inane chatter department, and never failed to make the dynamic duo, as she’d taken to calling Coulson and his latest protege, blush with her inappropriateness.

It surprises Steve just how quickly he comes to think of them as his family. Even the grumpy captain, Fury. He pushed, ever so slightly, for Steve to suit up again. There’s still a fight to be won, still minds to be freed from Hydra’s grasp. Following Fury’s most emotional plea yet, and a few words of encouragement from Coulson, Steve spends the night staring at metal chair with the name ‘Capsicle’ scratched into it by Stark. Over breakfast he gave Fury his answer.

Darcy, sitting like a queen upon her thrown of recycled parts, surrounded by screens filled with neon green code, taps away on several keyboards at once as talks him through his first trip back into the Matrix in her usual flippant way.

“Everyone, please observe that the "Fasten your seatbelt" and "No smoking" signs have been turned on. Sit back and enjoy your flight...”

Steve feels the jolt of the cold metal spike into the base of his neck, he quickly forgets it as his system is flushed with endorphins. He glances around the Stark Tower penthouse (an unhackable entry/exit point) and finds his crewmates staring at him.

“I hate your RSI,” Stark snarks before countering Steve’s larger body, still wearing old WWII uniform, by covering himself in a red and gold suit of high tech armor.

“Wow...” Steve gasps. Stark preens until Widow bangs on his helmet with the butt of her gun.

“Let’s go before I drown in testosterone,” she drawls in her seldom used husky tones.

The crew files out to the helipad and Steve gawks at the futuristic world below him before his eyes settle on the strange transport plane.

“Can you fly that?” he asks Hawkeye, who’s made himself comfortable in the pilots seat.

“Not yet,” he smirks, before tapping the communications device in his ear.

“Operator.”

“Darcy-Lou, I’m gonna need a pilot program for a quinjet.”

“You want fries with that?”

Hawkeye’s eyes flutter for a split second and then he’s flipping toggles and switches like he knows what he’s doing, which Steve supposes, he does now.

Once they’re in the air and its safe to engage the autopilot Fury calls for them to assemble around a holographic display.

“Alright, our target...”

They work well together, and complete mission after mission with minimal issues. They’ve come face to face with Hydra agents a few times and Steve does what he’s been ordered to do: Run. The last time he faced an agent things didn’t go so well for him and he’s not ready to try again.

Hydra thought they had destroyed Steve Rogers, but apparently he’d just been offline. Now that he’s back online and running amok in their system he’s causing even more problems for them than he did before. Especially now that he’s working with the crew of resistance vessel Triskellion, who are becoming a larger annoyance than the crews of the Asgardia and the Milano combined. It can’t be tolerated. They try force, they try turning those still plugged in against him, but nothing works. It’s Agent Pearce who suggests trying to break Captain America’s spirit again. Whilst it hadn’t been successful the first time, it had had an impressive effect on the Captain. It was worth trying again, the powers that be agreed, and dusted off an old battery.

Their latest mission is putting their newest recruit, Falcon, through his paces but he holds his own alongside Steve and Widow.

The latter swears in Russian as Darcy passes along a message through her earpiece.

“We’ve got Agents incoming!”

“Where’s our nearest exit?”

“24hr diner, two blocks north, phone booth in the back,” comes unnervingly serious reply. That’s not good, Steve thinks. Darcy only gets serious when things look like their going to get really bad.

“Falcon, Widow, make for the exit. I’ve got your six.”

Falcon flies ahead and clears a path for them, his metal wings folding back as he strides into the diner, ignoring the panic and confusion he causes as he makes for the phone in the back.

Widow’s almost at the door when she hears the sound of 240 pound body being thrown against a car. She freezes when she sees his masked assailant. She’s knows him. He’s not an Agent but just as deadly, a terrifyingly efficient assassination program with a shiny metal arm. They must be really pissing Hydra off if they’re bringing out the big guns.

He’s matching Steve blow for blow, and when he almost takes Steve’s head off with a Bowie knife Widow leaps into action, quite literally, wrapping her legs around his head. Her usual move is to flip them on their back before taking them out, but the Winter Soldier, as the program is known, doesn’t even falter under her weight. He throws her off and moves to shoot her in the head, but Widow is faster, throwing some sort of miniature EMP device at his metal arm.

“Run!” Steve shouts at her and she complies, hesitating only for the briefest of moments. Steve tries to follow but the soldier doesn’t give up, blocking his path to the diner. They battle each other for five long minutes, Darcy counting down the seconds before Hydra agents arrive and she’ll have to cut the hardline in his ear, before he finally gets the upper hand, throwing the soldier halfway down the street, his mask coming off in his hand. Steve drops it and races for the exit, Darcy’s voice growing increasingly panicked.

“Get to the fucking exit, Rogers!”

He falls in the door as a bullet grazes he shoulder, pushing diners aside as he makes for the phone. He’s got it halfway up to his head when screams pull his attention back to the door. The Winter Soldier points a gun at his heart and fires.

“Bucky?!”

“Whoa, Steve! We got you. You’re okay,” Falcon tries to calm him down as he and Coulson keep him from leaping out of his chair. Steve blinks, the Matrix and his best friends face fading from his vision. He exhales shakily, his heart and mind racing. Coulson gives him a concerned look but he waves it off, as well as Darcy’s curious stare. He does a damn good job of pretending everything’s okay as he gives Fury his mission report but the second he’s dismissed he disappears into the bowels of the ship.

Coulson finds him a couple of hours later, curled up in a fraying chair that used to be his, but he hadn’t stepped foot in this section of the ship since the day they found Steve.

“This is how you found me?” Steve asks, gesturing at the mess of screens and cobbled together pieces of tech. Coulson nods. “Think you can find someone else?”

[ohbrie]

Havoc: Chapter 1, Pt. 2

“I fully support this statement.” Clint agreed.

“No, I would kidnap him, force him into early retirement, hide him at some secluded tropical beach and you would never see his beautiful face again. That would be torture.” Clint preened like a vain peacock at these words and gave Natasha a quick raise of his eyebrows; she scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Again, I support this statement.” Clint nodded with an even larger grin. With a pained sigh wondering if securing the fate of the planet was really worth dealing with these idiots.

“Question away.”

“Well I hope you don’t mind my language but... who the fuck are you people?”

“We are super secret spies.” Clint announced delightedly. Tony shushed him gently before giving an expectant look towards Fury.

“We are S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“As in Aunt Peggy’s S.H.I.E.L.D? I thought they dealt with letters not super secret spies. You know if you had just said that from the start I would have stayed put rather than freaking out and assuming I was in hostile territory.” It was the truth, Tony had faith that Aunt Peggy’s people wouldn’t dare harm a hair on his head as Peggy Carter was a fierce and scary woman you didn’t want to cross by harming her ‘nephew’. The space pirate looked almost distressed by this news, well it wasn’t so much distressed rather than frustrated and willing to kill a man.

...

His hostage turned out to be a superhero and there was a whole lot more superheroes just chilling in the atmosphere. Some of them even wore capes and brightly coloured outfits. Apparently S.H.I.E.L.D dealt in superheroes now rather than the letters he thought they had.

He reluctantly chose to believe them as being on Aunt Peggy’s side when presented with evidence and informed that he should not try to escape or blow up things. He was not allowed to leave because the sight of him would cause alarm. They didn’t bother explaining a lot, for example why he would cause alarm with the general populace but he didn’t really expect much from them considering how they were treading delicately around him.  It did not mean he had to like any of this however, especially seeing as they had confiscated his new toy.

Well he did like one thing, and that was his hostage. Hawkeye or rather Clint Barton. He was cool. The redhead was set upon him like a guard-dog as apparently they did not trust him not to do something stupid and she was their best shot of making him obey. After seeing her take down an agent as an example of what she could easily do to him he figured it was their best shot at behavioural tactics. He was behaving for now though, he still did not really trust them but if he acted like he did he could collect intelligence. Then when they were lulled into a false sense of security he would escape, he was still a prisoner after all.

Whilst the ‘adults’ discussed what to do with him, the redhead was his trained assassin babysitter and his hostage was his playmate. Well it could be worst, they could have cuffed him to a chair rather than giving him free reign in a room trusting the redhead to contain him if needs be.

He also got some interesting visitors.

“Wow. They weren’t kidding.” The first to show was a mousy looking man who he decided to love pretty much instantly as they had given him a break down on him due to the man in front of him containing a green rage monster as well as being a scientist.

“Dr Bruce Banner.” Tony greeted politely holding out his hand in greeting, Bruce’s expression turned from curiosity and bemusement to anxious at this action and eyed up his hand in distrust. Well, they weren’t kidding about this man being smart then.

“I heard you turn into an enormous green rage monster.” Tony added forgoing his politeness as he was excited at the prospect of new science to explore; he was fascinated so he was going to show it. “They told me as they don’t trust me not to take you hostage too and cause a code green.” He informed the good doctor who looked startled.

“Hey! I thought I was your hostage!” Clint grumbled, Tony went to the archer and lightly nudged him on the shoulder with his own.

“You’ll always be my number one hostage, you incredibly attractive man.” Tony reassured him before turning back to Bruce.

“So... is just anger? Or is it other emotions as well? What about lust?”

Poor Bruce did not have much time to react to this before a bear of a man entered. He was a loud man, one who looked like he came straight from a re-enactment of some kind of battle, or a play in that ridiculous garb. That cape though.

“Man of Iron I am glad to see you unharmed!” He bellowed and Tony sent a look towards Clint. This man he had no warning about and from the redhead’s smallest of smirks he felt that was her doing. The wicked, wicked woman. The man towered over him and despite himself he found himself clutching slightly at Clint’s upper arm in mild alarm as the man looked intently down at him like he was some kind of exhibit at a museum.

“Though you have shrunk.” The bear with the golden locks mused. “I shall speak to Loki about this.”

“Loki as in that guy from Norse mythology who birthed a horse?” Tony asked curiously loosening his grip on Clint’s arm. Thor winced a little at that whilst Clint sucked his lips in to hide his smile, even Bruce lost some of his alarm.

“Those myths are lies.”

“How would you know, were you there?” Tony snorted before gawping as the other nodded simply.

“I’m his brother.” His face did not change for a while as it was frozen in shock, he hoped the other was merely jesting rather than truly believing he was in fact a god. Then with remarkable self-restraint he pushed down his disbelief, no one else seemed to find this news and if he appeared unknowledgeable then he put himself at a disadvantage.

“Makes sense, Clint Barton is supernaturally attractive; he must be the God of Good-looks.” Tony stated sending Clint a slow wink, Natasha gave a small groan. It had been funny the first few minutes but by now she was afraid that Clint’s head may have been so inflated that it may no long fit through doors. She also did not really understand the attachment Teen Tony had gathered for Clint had came from, adult Tony had never shown such quick attachment to anyone really. He may have grown out of it after a number of betrayals she mused, there was also the issue of his parent’s deaths. He had mentioned Rhodey so he must be at MIT but before his parent’s deaths considering his state of mind.

“That title has already been taken. The title of the God of Awesome is open however, Clint Barton may wish to accept it but it had been reserved for Tony Stark and he would have to relinquish it before my shield-brother can accept it.” Thor prompted with a smile. Clint sent Thor a warning look, Clint wasn’t stupid he was quite aware what Thor was up to, Thor was trying to steal Teenage Tony’s affections from him. Tony gave the blond God an ecstatic grin before it faded as suddenly as it appeared. Thor’s brows furrowed and looked over his shoulder following Tony’s gaze.

“No.” Tony breathed out, it was hardly even a whisper. Tony’s jaw visibly clenched and his closed his eyes taking a deep breath. Then he was back to the annoying kid he was.

“Bend me over, spank my ass and call me Susan. This kid is Captain fucking America, Clint catch me whilst I swoon.” Clint obeyed with amusement dancing in his eyes as he caught the overdramatic teenage Stark who practically threw himself backwards. Clint was rather touched that the other already seemed to trust him enough to catch him. He could see that some things such as an inflated sense of dramatics did not change much having not seen the ‘no’. Natasha did though as did Thor.

Steve however merely looked on in shock; he had to admit this was a better reaction that the adult counterpart had given. Maybe Tony had not always been a complete ass after all. He did not have much of a reaction rather than a rather feeble “Language.”

Tony’s brow quirked upwards and he looked towards the rest to check whether they too had heard that. “Well pardon me, sir, I’m afraid I had gotten a little over-excited with the meeting of Dr Jekyll, a Norse God, a super secret spy and my childhood idol.” Steve was not overly sure whether Tony was being sarcastic or sincere in his apology and it really confused him on how to react. Clint coughed lightly and Tony sent him a look.

“And of course this man whom I took hostage. I love him.” Tony said in all seriousness. Clint gave a smug smirk.

“Wait did you say childhood idol?” Steve said catching onto the fact that of all the people mentioned that left him to the childhood idol.

“Until I realised I could defeat you with the use of an old woman yes.” Tony said simply. “Very well now that I have deemed you not kidnappers, please stop staring at me Captain Rogers, I’m aware that I’m still a prisoner even if I’m not kidnapped but could I get my one phone call?”

“Who do you plan to call?” Natasha prompted. Tony eyed her from the corner of his eye; she asked a lot of questions, she was extremely pretty but she also reminded him too much of Aunt Peggy for him to want to flirt with her. Aunt Peggy although looking very well for her age was a force of nature and could be seriously scary. If Natasha wasn’t so scary, perhaps if he was older and had less preservation instinct he would try to flirt but he wasn’t so whatever his hormones told him he was going to stay away far away. The code name she was called ‘Black Widow’ that didn’t really make him want to try anything with her either.

“Rhodey... he’s my room-mate and I’m fairly sure I was cut off mid-conversation with him. He’s a mother-hen, I’ll just tell him that I met a beautiful person and then all is well and he suspects that I am fornicating with them and ask no further questions.” If he answered truthfully enough in the end they wouldn’t expect it when he did lie or at least omit the truth.

“Fornicate?”  Clint snorted in amusement; Tony sent him a slow smile before speaking slowly as if speaking to a small child.

“When two people find each other rather attractive... the two may wish to have a very special cuddle with one another.” Clint gave a small choke; he had been lulled into a false sense of security with Tony’s blatant favouritism for him, but it showed that even he did not have safety. Tony rolled his eyes lightly, the teenager had such attitude.

“If I used cruder language Captain Rogers here may have fried himself completely, he already seems like he’s broken.” Tony explained gesturing with a small nod of his head towards Steve who hadn’t moved since Tony announced he would be beaten by an old woman.

“An old woman... beat me?” Steve finally managed to get out still trying to wrap his head how an old woman could beat him. Normally Steve wasn’t this slow but it wasn’t everyday your teammate was reverted back to a teenager and dropped a lot of information on you, besides Tony’s mouth whirled at a hundred miles per hour and could switch subjects just as easily. It wasn’t that he was slow but rather Tony was abnormally quick. Mostly however it was the fact he was working through scenarios where he may come across an elderly woman and in all of them he did not understand how he would lose unless said woman was in fact a witch.

“A bit behind but yes. Would you raise your shield to somebody’s grandmother? Now may I call Rhodey or not?” Steve gave a small sigh, now it clicked and he could see how the other would come to that conclusion.

There was silence until after careful consideration Natasha decided that if anything Rhodes may prevent this version of Tony, although he was surprisingly polite and well behaved he looked ready to blast through more walls if provoked, from causing more damage. “You may.” After Colonel James Rhodes was alerted to the situation.

“Thanks, Mother.” He may be too scared to flirt with her but he wasn’t too scared not to play with her completely. If he acted relaxed around them then the quicker they would give him an opportunity to escape, Rhodey also knew his codes and he could inform him of his need to escape without anyone being the wiser.