(no subject)
TITLE: Apoptosis
AUTHOR:
tyndall_blue
WORDCOUNT: 2187
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTER(S): Roy Mustang/Edward Elric eventually
PROMPT: 30 Roy/Ed- Modern-day AU where Ed is of legal age.
DISCLAIMER: If only, if only.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Written for fma_slashfest. I had an unexpected amount of fun writing this, and I have every intention of continuing it at lease one more chapter. I'm sorry for the the lateness, but a couple of unexpected RL emergencies popped up. Also, this is probably way off the target for what the OP wanted. It's un-beta'ed, so bear with any typos.
Summary: Edward Elric is a prodigy in the realm of biomedical science, pursuing Gene Therapy with a passion bordering on obsession.
Apoptosis ( /ˌæpəˈtoʊsɪs/)is the process of programmed cellular death (PCD) that may occur in multicellular organisms.
Roy Mustang took one last look in the mirror, pulling back his lips in a mock snarl. His tongue probed the back of his teeth experimentally. Damnit. He could’ve sworn he could feel something stuck there from lunch. The spinach salad was his prime suspect. Though he found nothing, paranoia drove him to dig floss from the pockets of his charcoal slacks. He was interviewing fellowship candidates, and it wouldn’t do to have spinach appear while demanding to know why they were deserving of a position from the mighty LysoTech.
He was right, there was something hiding in there. The dark-haired man grinned, running his tongue over his teeth once more in victory, and smoothed down the trim front of a black vest that matched his hair.
“Dr. Roy Mustang, you are one intimidatingly handsome bastard,” he quipped, pointedly ruffling his bangs so they fell in a decidedly roguish manner. Behind him, a flush echoed through the room and his back stiffened. Quickly, Roy busied himself with washing his hands a second time, fumbling with the soap and the damn automatic faucet wouldn’t kick on. He cursed under his breath as the stall door swung open and a stocky, blonde strode out, still fastening up his brown leather belt. He didn’t even grant Roy a look as he began to wash his hands next to him. The taller man relaxed and looked over this intruder casually, quirking a manicured eyebrow at the uncoventional golden fall of hair restrained in a high ponytail, and drifting over the broad shoulders that pulled at the bright red shirt, and followed it down to where it tucked into the slim waist of pressed khaki slacks. Very interesting.
As he realized that he was standing with his hands in an empty sink, he noticed the distinct sensation of being watched. His gaze jerked upwards and he found himself nearly level with gold eyes that were as piercing and corrosive as molten sulfur he had handled in basic chemistry. With fierce determination he fought back the urge to stammer and bolt, instead he once more raised an eyebrow while quelling a flush at such scrutiny. For good measure he stuffed his still damp hands into his pockets and canted forward his hips in an especially confident pose. The eyes left his shortly and did a quick assessment as Roy continued to appraise the new face.
He couldn’t be more than 21, probably got separated from a college tour group. he recalled there being a few on the schedule for today. Long lashes dipped briefly over the intense eyes as he took in even Roy’s shoes, softening his profile into one that could almost be female if it weren’t for the strong jawline and the patches of missed stubble. Who the hells has eyes that color anyways? Roy was jerked from his reverie once again, this time by a snort and those thin lips pulling into a smirk.
“Eh, you’re ok,” he tossed casually, brushing past Mustang for the paper towels. The infamous Roy Mustang, youngest Director of Research and Discovery in LysoTech history at a juvenile 34, was left speechless and in shock by a college student as he cackled out of the bathroom. Perhaps this day wouldn’t be so great after all.
He soothed himself by flirting with the pretty, new young thing they had placed at reception. The wide open space of the lobby didn’t hurt either, the fronds of the exotic palm trees giving it a mocking feeling of nature. To his further delight, on the way back to his office, he passed a tour group consisting of a chemistry sorority admiring the hallway of what Roy affectionately referred to as “dead white guys,” that controlled the company. His heart was practically singing as Rose, their PR guide, stopped and began to excitedly detail his position and accomplishments.
“Dr. Mustang has recently been promoted to Director of Discovery and Research after his accomplishments in the founding of our Genomic Therapy department. Choosing to leave the lab and join administration is just one of many ways you can advance your career at LysoTech,” she beamed as Roy’s Blackberry began to ding at him in the most infuriating way possible. He makes an apologetic frown at the dainty red-head he was making eyes with, and silences it. Balls.
“And speaking of career advancement, I’m afraid I have to excuse myself to conduct some interviews. My sincerest apologies, ladies. Enjoy the rest of your tour,” he beamed, resisting the urge to take one last glance.
With his mood restored, he now felt he could handle several hours of needy new doctors groveling for his mercy. Briefly, he admired the glossy letters of his name, before he swung open the door to beam at the stony face of his secretary.
“Good a-,” he started.
“You’re late, sir,” she deadpanned in a tone that would make a lesser man’s testicles seek refuge inside his body. Roy was non-plussed, merely frowning slightly, bottom lip jutting in a pout. “Dr. Elric is waiting for his interview in your office. I hope you’ve sufficiently review the applicant portfolio I collected for you on his work, so you won’t be wasting everyone’s time,” she clipped, her light brown eyes held his level. He had inherited her services from the previous director after he had retired, and he strongly suspected the man of having a masochistic streak. Personally, he found Riza’s particular brand of administrative assistance, while efficient, very frightening. He attempted to give her desk wide berth without appearing to do so.
“I’m very sorry for the wait, Dr. Elric,” he cheered. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.” The diplomatic smile froze on his face. Whoever the good Dr. was, was seated in his chair, the high back obscuring them from view. His spinach salad and chicken sandwich churned in his gut, already he had lost control of the situation. “It’s good to see you’ve made yourself at home,” he hesitated, noting that his folder of interview materials were gone from the top of the desk. Slowly, the high back chair swivelled to face him, it’s occupant engrossed in a magazine selected from the folder. It was divine intervention that stopped Roy from stroking out, then and there, and God’s grace struck him again to give him the patience to utter a slow sentence.
“If you would take a more appropriate seat, we can begin the interview,” he gritted. Amber eyes flocked up to meet his, and Roy strode over to stand before the chair.
“Sure,” the younger man quipped, tossing the magazine and folder back onto the desk that Riza had straightened for him during lunch. He stretched and straightened, his back cracking audibly as he hoisted himself from it’s deep leather recesses. Roy took his own seat, resisting the urge to throw the application into the trash now instead of after the blonde had left. Dropping into the chair opposite the desk, he took an equally insouciant posture, legs spread, shirt slightly rumpled, feathered bangs falling free from the severe ponytail and framing his defiant face. Despite himself, Roy was suddenly self-conscious of his own severe posture.
“So, do your parents know you’re not in school?” he purred. A childish voice in him was pleased to chime that if the interviewee wasn’t taking this seriously, then neither was he. The young man visibly bristled, back shooting ramrod straight and jaw clenching.
“Shut up, old man! I’m here for a job! If you’re just gonna jerk me around, I’ll just go,” he snarled with surprising vigor. Roy delicately quirked an eyebrow, thumbing the folder with curiosity before flipping it open to peruse the resume.
“Pray tell, what could someone who never even went to high school offer LysoTech?” He couldn’t help but purr, leaning back in his chair and drawing the folder and magazine to him. Glancing up he saw color flushing the bridge of his nose and the pale brows tipped down with rage. His eyes casually perused the magazine, sure that he had gleaned the necessary information from the CV. He knew the trends of Dr.’s with GED’s in their history. The magazine must be part of Hawkeye’s research, a mainstream science periodical. The boy across from him was still attempting to bluster an explanation as he wandered what of relevance would be in here.
It was detailing the use of gene therapy, a technicolor strand of DNA twisting across sterile background, and he noted with interest in the subtitle that it was documenting on it’s first successful uses. He flipped to the books marked page, where a proud research team beamed behind a lab station. The air conditioning chose at that time to kick on, sending an additional cold chill down his spine as he recognized one smirk in particular. In fact, it had been the same one that had burst his ego this morning. The next page over, he was squinting into a microscope, blonde hair bundling tightly at the nape of his neck. The caption below reading “MIT’s second youngest doctoral candidate, Edward Elric, 18, at work on his collaborative project with fellow candidates.” Nineteen?
As the blood left his face, he realized that the boy was still talking. A quick glance over the two page article confirmed his fears. He remembered hearing about this last year; the boy sitting in front of him had found another possible means for curing ALD by using the HIV virus in gene therapy, and that was while he was still getting his doctorate at only 19 years old. Silence.
“Dr. Elric, I feel we haven’t gotten off to a proper start,” he swallowed. Those golden eyes widened abruptly.
“Uh, yeah, I guess,” he mumbled. Roy’s mind was working overtime in the damage control lobe. He flicked idylly at a pencil. “So why are you interested in LysoTech?”
The boy was brilliant, he couldn’t deny it no matter how he looked at it. Moreso, when he began to talk about chemistry he became a bearable, if not engaging, human being. If he lost him to another company, he would be laughed out of his office.
“Well, your resume is extraordinarily impressivem” he said, clearing his throat around the crow he was swallowing. “But, my concern is that perhaps you aren’t a good fit for our fellowship.”
“What do you mean?” Edward’s body was no longer languid. He sat tense on the edge of his seat. Roy turned a pencil end over end in his hands. No, the fellowship would be agonizing for him , he would need to answer too many people. He needed room to grow and he knew just the place. Casually, he flocked through the folder once more.
“Currently we are competing for a contract using zinc finger nucleases in therapies for neurological disorders, and we are fairly confident we’ll receive it so we’ve begun building up our staff,” he bit his lower lip thoughtfully, hoping what he was about to do wouldn’t bite him too hard in the ass later. “If you’re interested, I would like to offer you a position as Research Scientist in our Genomic Therapy department.” Roy knew he was going to regret this before the words were even out of his mouth.
“What?!” Roy almost jumped to his feet with surprise at the outburst. “Of course! I’ll take it!” Didn’t he realize he could get practically any job he wanted?
“Excellent, I look forward to seeing the results of your work. Now, securing you a lab, staff, and the hiring process itself will take a few weeks. Someone from HR will be in touch with you to set up your drug screening and background check in a few days. On your way out, ask Ms. Hawkeye for your hiring paperwork.” He swivelled in his chair, contemplating how he was going to shuffle around funds to make this position appear, and where the staff would come from. The blonde stood but did not leave, Roy looked up questioningly. His eyes were downcast and he seemed to be shuffling slightly.
“I’m sorry about earlier, Dr. Mustang,” he murmured and Roy resisted laughing at this display of childish embarrassment.
“So, no hard feelings?”
“Of course not. Please, call me Roy,” he said, smiling carefully. Abruptly, a hand was offered out for him to shake. He took it, trying to ignore how much larger his was, engulfing Edward’s own long, thin ones, and the conspicuous lack of warmth. He froward at their joined hands when he noticed the strangeness of the texture; skin-like, but not quite skin, but the young doctor pulled his hand back quickly. “Myself and several of the scientists in your department go to the bar down the street every Thursday. You’re welcome to join us, if they’ll even let you in the door,” he chortled. Once more, the placid face before him flushed red, before the young man made an about face and strode unevenly out of the office. He smiled to himself as he flipped open the magazine again. Just when he thought things were boring.