Fic: What Doesn't Kill Us - Chapter One
Title: What Doesn't Kill Us
Chapter: Faint Beginnings
Word Count: 2025
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Eventual Roy/Riza with various appearances from the rest of the characters
Summary: Life rarely complicates itself at the right moments.
A/N: This is a legitimate attempt at a multi-chaptered fic, which is something I don't attempt too often (let alone seriously or successfully). So kick back and enjoy the ride. It's gonna be a bumpy one.
The town was bathed in orange and gold; sunlight streamed in through the morning haze, penetrating each crevice of the buildings that dotted the cobble stoned streets. Everything was silent and beautiful, sleepy villagers waking up in their sleepy little town, awaiting the day, awaiting life.
Everything was silent except for at the center where, if one listened close enough, they could hear the faint beginnings of the universe set to implode.
"Fullmetal, I am about this close to having your state registration revoked!"
"Hey, it's not my fault! What was I supposed to do? Let them go?!"
Roy brushed a finger against his temple. Before him lay the remains of what at one point in time may have been called a town square, though the damage imparted allowed for no recognition of form or purpose: it was merely dust and rumble piled on the remains of what he was sure had been meticulous landscaping. He still wasn't sure what Ed had done, but the violent nature of his actions was quite clear, though it was yet to be determined whether or not the poor town square had warranted such a beating.
"Tell me again what happened?"
Edward sighed heavily (as if they were the ones inconveniencing him). Roy had half a mind to hit him across the head, discipline him like he was sure his father never had, but he stifled the impulse as the younger man opened his mouth to speak.
"They were robbing that corner market," he motioned to a building off to his right, it's aging exterior pristine in comparison to the mess before them, "so I stopped them."
"Yes, you've told me all that. I want to know exactly what this 'stopping' entailed."
Ed ran a hand across his automail shoulder. "Al and I read about this new kind of alchemy. Close range explosives or some shit. How was I supposed to know it'd be so powerful?"
Roy suppressed a groan, covering his eyes with his hands. "And why did you continue to use it after the first blast?"
"Because it was awesome."
Edward Elric would be the death of him.
---
Cleanup went swiftly after Roy allocated the rest of Ed's funds for the month towards hiring a crew to sort through the rubble. Roy stayed only long enough to ensure that no further damage would be done by the young alchemist. He left Breda in charge of reconstruction (poor soul) and then caught the next train back to Central; back to paperwork, plotting treason, and subordinates who listened, dammit. No one turned him on to office work quite like the Elrics.
Across from him in the compartment Havoc plucked a cigarette from his pocket and stretched, arms barely grazing the low ceiling above them. "Do you think Fullmetal ever thinks when he does things? Or is he just driven by some psychotic rage whenever his sense of justice is being threatened?" He dangled the cigarette between his fingers, bringing it to his face, "remember last month? When he saw that old lady's purse get stolen? I'm still trying to get permission to fix all those streetlights."
Roy groaned. He remembered that very, very well. Too well, in fact. He would have to do something to remedy that. Scotch, perhaps? Nameless women? A bullet to the brain? Nothing seemed too outlandish at this point.
Havoc studied the cigarette in his hands. His brow furrowed in concentration for a few moments and then, having seemingly made up his mind, he gestured towards Roy. "Mind lighting this for me, Chief?"
"Yes, he does mind," the sliding door opened and Hawkeye snatched the cigarette from Havoc's hands, pocketing it in her jacket. Havoc made a motion to protest, but Hawkeye stopped him, stating in a stern voice, "you'll get it back when we get to the station," and took her seat next to Roy. She looked tired, he noticed, but then again dealing with Edward Elric tended to do that to people. He was feeling exhausted.
"The conductor says we should arrive in ten minutes, Sir."
Roy turned to look at her. "Oh? But I was having such a lovely time, riding this train with my wonderful subordinates who don't destroy unsuspecting buildings or undermine me at all."
Havoc made a choking noise from across the aisle. "Right, because yesterday when Hawkeye called you an idiot in front of the entire office that didn't undermine your authority at all."
Roy chuckled, "Ah yes, he is right, Hawkeye. Perhaps you're better suited to tag along on the adventures of Edward and Alphonse, brothers in insubordination and destruction?"
Hawkeye crossed her legs and leaned back against the seat, "I was only stating the truth. If you really want to waste half your funds hosting parties for higher ups, then by all means," she swept her arm emphatically into the air.
Havoc leaned forward. "You hear that, Chief? Operation Drink The Opposition Into Submission is back on!"
"You're both idiots," Hawkeye groaned under her breath.
She might have had a point.
---
The office might have been cleaner than when they had left, Roy noted as he entered. Papers that had cluttered his desk earlier were now neatly stacked and (presumably) signed, pens returned to ink wells, books no longer falling off shelves. The file cabinets, which had been overflowing for weeks (Hawkeye maintained that the phenomenon had existed since the dawn of time, but Roy thought she was exaggerating), were now neatly closed, their contents hidden within their shiny, metal... wait, had someone polished the file cabinets?
This, Roy reminded himself, was why he left Fuery and Falman in charge.
"Greetings, my darling soldiers! How I've missed you!" his voiced boomed across the office walls. Fuery and Falman lifted their heads from their desks and stared at Havoc, who had entered in behind Roy.
"Fullmetal destroyed a town," Havoc offered by way of explanation.
"Yes, a town, and it's been... what? A few hours since? He could be halfway to Eastern by now with poor Breda lying dead in a ditch. Death by midget alchemist. How awful. Do you think Fullmetal would have to cut Breda's legs down first so he could see the rest of him in order to attack?"
"Sir, I don't think that's an appropriate discussion to be having during work hours," Hawkeye entered the office, arms full with paperwork, her eyes disapproving in a manner Roy had become accustomed to. Ah, good old Hawkeye. Always there to set them back on track.
Fuery took the momentary disruption in conversation to stand, facing towards his superior. "Sir," he reached a finger up to reposition his glasses, "while you were gone Falman and I took the liberty of doing a little office maintenance. In the process we managed to find several folders worth of unsigned work, along with..."
Roy saw Hawkeye still from the corner of his eye and practically leapt across the room to stop this train wreck before it began, his hand landing firmly against Fuery's shoulder. "Yes, I noticed I could see my reflection in the file cabinets even as I approached headquarters. Excellent job, you two. Now, I'm sorry I can't stay and talk about the specifics, but you'll notice the Lieutenant has left a sizable amount of work in my inbox. Better get to it!"
"But Sir, there were at least three folders worth, if not-"
Roy patted the younger man vigorously on the shoulder, "Yes, yes, Sergeant, I understand. We will deal with this later."
Striding to his desk Roy tried to ignore the look Hawkeye was giving him, which was difficult because she was terrifying.
Once seated at his desk, Roy reached towards the (monstrous, never-ending, heart attack inducing) stack of papers and grabbed the first one. He decided as a peace offering for the recently discovered weeks worth of paperwork he had stashed away that he would at least read this one (lest she quiz him later).
It was a request, simple enough. Requests were generally easy to rule on, since they required hardly any difficult thinking. You want more ammunition for the firing range? Done. Paperclips to finish building that impressive, two foot tall replica of the Central City Library? Awesome, but no. This request would be no different, he mused, as the author was asking for... 10,000 roses? What? Why on earth would they be asking him for that? Roy skimmed the paper again and this time his eyes caught the heading, which addressed it to the committee in charge of banquets and formal events. Misplaced, then. He set it aside and reached for the second piece of paper.
This one was a report, upsettingly enough. Reports involved concentration and actual reading, which Roy was not such a fan of. He loved reading in his spare time, to be sure, but the kinds of reports written by military officials were less than desirable; not like the books that scattered across his bedroom floor, poetry and chemical equations that were light years preferable to this. Yet somehow he would endure, for the sake of his country (and his life, for he was sure Hawkeye would end it if he added to the aforementioned folders. He would have to teach Fuery to be a little more discrete next time. With his fists.)
Roy lifted his pen and steeled himself to concentrate. Once again he skimmed the pages, trying valiantly not to fall asleep while reading the author's lengthy explanations of budgeting, allocation of funds, and... chocolate cake? Was someone playing a joke on him? Roy flipped the page over to make sure it hadn't been a mistake and found the same heading as the last one staring back at him. Had someone mixed up these papers with his?
Leafing through the rest of the stack, Roy discovered that all of the papers were addressed to the Committee of Banquets and Formal Events. He frowned, his voice littered with confusion as he lifted his head to stare at Hawkeye. "Lieutenant, it seems you've given me the wrong stack of paperwork."
Hawkeye stopped whatever she was doing and turned to look at him. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, it's possible our duties have been expanded to include decorating for next month's gala, but I find that highly unlikely considering, well, everything."
Hawkeye frowned as she approached his desk. Roy leaned back in his chair to allow her more room as she leafed through the paperwork herself, watching as each request for pastries and folding chairs was taken in by her critical gaze. After a few moments her frown deepened. "I'm sorry, Sir. I must have grabbed these out of the wrong bin. I'll fix this right away."
The rest of the inhabitants of the office watched as she collected the stack of papers into her arms and swiftly exited the room. Once the door was shut, Havoc leaned back in his seat, propping his feet up on the corner of his desk, and stared at Roy. "Decorations would have been good for the parties, Sir."
Roy turned to study his reflection in one of the file cabinets. "Good thinking! Write me a report on the merits of ribbons versus streamers and have it on my desk by the end of the day," he turned to his subordinates with a grin, "and don't be sloppy. I want research. I'll have you know Sergeant Connors wrote a beautiful piece on the benefits of chocolate cake versus vanilla. Don't let yourself be outdone by a Sergeant, Second Lieutenant." Fuery stared at him indignantly and the men laughed before turning back to their individual work, visions of beautiful gown-clad women and delicious pastries no doubt clouding what concentration they had left. Roy continued to study his reflection (he was such a handsome devil), resigning himself to wait - what was taking so long, anyway? - until Hawkeye, the harbinger of monotony, returned.
He was only somewhat less enthused when the correct stack ended up being twice as large. A miracle, really. He would remind her to thank Edward Elric for that later.
"Sir, Breda's on the phone. It's about Fullmetal again."
Well, maybe not.
Chapter: Faint Beginnings
Word Count: 2025
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Eventual Roy/Riza with various appearances from the rest of the characters
Summary: Life rarely complicates itself at the right moments.
A/N: This is a legitimate attempt at a multi-chaptered fic, which is something I don't attempt too often (let alone seriously or successfully). So kick back and enjoy the ride. It's gonna be a bumpy one.
The town was bathed in orange and gold; sunlight streamed in through the morning haze, penetrating each crevice of the buildings that dotted the cobble stoned streets. Everything was silent and beautiful, sleepy villagers waking up in their sleepy little town, awaiting the day, awaiting life.
Everything was silent except for at the center where, if one listened close enough, they could hear the faint beginnings of the universe set to implode.
"Fullmetal, I am about this close to having your state registration revoked!"
"Hey, it's not my fault! What was I supposed to do? Let them go?!"
Roy brushed a finger against his temple. Before him lay the remains of what at one point in time may have been called a town square, though the damage imparted allowed for no recognition of form or purpose: it was merely dust and rumble piled on the remains of what he was sure had been meticulous landscaping. He still wasn't sure what Ed had done, but the violent nature of his actions was quite clear, though it was yet to be determined whether or not the poor town square had warranted such a beating.
"Tell me again what happened?"
Edward sighed heavily (as if they were the ones inconveniencing him). Roy had half a mind to hit him across the head, discipline him like he was sure his father never had, but he stifled the impulse as the younger man opened his mouth to speak.
"They were robbing that corner market," he motioned to a building off to his right, it's aging exterior pristine in comparison to the mess before them, "so I stopped them."
"Yes, you've told me all that. I want to know exactly what this 'stopping' entailed."
Ed ran a hand across his automail shoulder. "Al and I read about this new kind of alchemy. Close range explosives or some shit. How was I supposed to know it'd be so powerful?"
Roy suppressed a groan, covering his eyes with his hands. "And why did you continue to use it after the first blast?"
"Because it was awesome."
Edward Elric would be the death of him.
---
Cleanup went swiftly after Roy allocated the rest of Ed's funds for the month towards hiring a crew to sort through the rubble. Roy stayed only long enough to ensure that no further damage would be done by the young alchemist. He left Breda in charge of reconstruction (poor soul) and then caught the next train back to Central; back to paperwork, plotting treason, and subordinates who listened, dammit. No one turned him on to office work quite like the Elrics.
Across from him in the compartment Havoc plucked a cigarette from his pocket and stretched, arms barely grazing the low ceiling above them. "Do you think Fullmetal ever thinks when he does things? Or is he just driven by some psychotic rage whenever his sense of justice is being threatened?" He dangled the cigarette between his fingers, bringing it to his face, "remember last month? When he saw that old lady's purse get stolen? I'm still trying to get permission to fix all those streetlights."
Roy groaned. He remembered that very, very well. Too well, in fact. He would have to do something to remedy that. Scotch, perhaps? Nameless women? A bullet to the brain? Nothing seemed too outlandish at this point.
Havoc studied the cigarette in his hands. His brow furrowed in concentration for a few moments and then, having seemingly made up his mind, he gestured towards Roy. "Mind lighting this for me, Chief?"
"Yes, he does mind," the sliding door opened and Hawkeye snatched the cigarette from Havoc's hands, pocketing it in her jacket. Havoc made a motion to protest, but Hawkeye stopped him, stating in a stern voice, "you'll get it back when we get to the station," and took her seat next to Roy. She looked tired, he noticed, but then again dealing with Edward Elric tended to do that to people. He was feeling exhausted.
"The conductor says we should arrive in ten minutes, Sir."
Roy turned to look at her. "Oh? But I was having such a lovely time, riding this train with my wonderful subordinates who don't destroy unsuspecting buildings or undermine me at all."
Havoc made a choking noise from across the aisle. "Right, because yesterday when Hawkeye called you an idiot in front of the entire office that didn't undermine your authority at all."
Roy chuckled, "Ah yes, he is right, Hawkeye. Perhaps you're better suited to tag along on the adventures of Edward and Alphonse, brothers in insubordination and destruction?"
Hawkeye crossed her legs and leaned back against the seat, "I was only stating the truth. If you really want to waste half your funds hosting parties for higher ups, then by all means," she swept her arm emphatically into the air.
Havoc leaned forward. "You hear that, Chief? Operation Drink The Opposition Into Submission is back on!"
"You're both idiots," Hawkeye groaned under her breath.
She might have had a point.
---
The office might have been cleaner than when they had left, Roy noted as he entered. Papers that had cluttered his desk earlier were now neatly stacked and (presumably) signed, pens returned to ink wells, books no longer falling off shelves. The file cabinets, which had been overflowing for weeks (Hawkeye maintained that the phenomenon had existed since the dawn of time, but Roy thought she was exaggerating), were now neatly closed, their contents hidden within their shiny, metal... wait, had someone polished the file cabinets?
This, Roy reminded himself, was why he left Fuery and Falman in charge.
"Greetings, my darling soldiers! How I've missed you!" his voiced boomed across the office walls. Fuery and Falman lifted their heads from their desks and stared at Havoc, who had entered in behind Roy.
"Fullmetal destroyed a town," Havoc offered by way of explanation.
"Yes, a town, and it's been... what? A few hours since? He could be halfway to Eastern by now with poor Breda lying dead in a ditch. Death by midget alchemist. How awful. Do you think Fullmetal would have to cut Breda's legs down first so he could see the rest of him in order to attack?"
"Sir, I don't think that's an appropriate discussion to be having during work hours," Hawkeye entered the office, arms full with paperwork, her eyes disapproving in a manner Roy had become accustomed to. Ah, good old Hawkeye. Always there to set them back on track.
Fuery took the momentary disruption in conversation to stand, facing towards his superior. "Sir," he reached a finger up to reposition his glasses, "while you were gone Falman and I took the liberty of doing a little office maintenance. In the process we managed to find several folders worth of unsigned work, along with..."
Roy saw Hawkeye still from the corner of his eye and practically leapt across the room to stop this train wreck before it began, his hand landing firmly against Fuery's shoulder. "Yes, I noticed I could see my reflection in the file cabinets even as I approached headquarters. Excellent job, you two. Now, I'm sorry I can't stay and talk about the specifics, but you'll notice the Lieutenant has left a sizable amount of work in my inbox. Better get to it!"
"But Sir, there were at least three folders worth, if not-"
Roy patted the younger man vigorously on the shoulder, "Yes, yes, Sergeant, I understand. We will deal with this later."
Striding to his desk Roy tried to ignore the look Hawkeye was giving him, which was difficult because she was terrifying.
Once seated at his desk, Roy reached towards the (monstrous, never-ending, heart attack inducing) stack of papers and grabbed the first one. He decided as a peace offering for the recently discovered weeks worth of paperwork he had stashed away that he would at least read this one (lest she quiz him later).
It was a request, simple enough. Requests were generally easy to rule on, since they required hardly any difficult thinking. You want more ammunition for the firing range? Done. Paperclips to finish building that impressive, two foot tall replica of the Central City Library? Awesome, but no. This request would be no different, he mused, as the author was asking for... 10,000 roses? What? Why on earth would they be asking him for that? Roy skimmed the paper again and this time his eyes caught the heading, which addressed it to the committee in charge of banquets and formal events. Misplaced, then. He set it aside and reached for the second piece of paper.
This one was a report, upsettingly enough. Reports involved concentration and actual reading, which Roy was not such a fan of. He loved reading in his spare time, to be sure, but the kinds of reports written by military officials were less than desirable; not like the books that scattered across his bedroom floor, poetry and chemical equations that were light years preferable to this. Yet somehow he would endure, for the sake of his country (and his life, for he was sure Hawkeye would end it if he added to the aforementioned folders. He would have to teach Fuery to be a little more discrete next time. With his fists.)
Roy lifted his pen and steeled himself to concentrate. Once again he skimmed the pages, trying valiantly not to fall asleep while reading the author's lengthy explanations of budgeting, allocation of funds, and... chocolate cake? Was someone playing a joke on him? Roy flipped the page over to make sure it hadn't been a mistake and found the same heading as the last one staring back at him. Had someone mixed up these papers with his?
Leafing through the rest of the stack, Roy discovered that all of the papers were addressed to the Committee of Banquets and Formal Events. He frowned, his voice littered with confusion as he lifted his head to stare at Hawkeye. "Lieutenant, it seems you've given me the wrong stack of paperwork."
Hawkeye stopped whatever she was doing and turned to look at him. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, it's possible our duties have been expanded to include decorating for next month's gala, but I find that highly unlikely considering, well, everything."
Hawkeye frowned as she approached his desk. Roy leaned back in his chair to allow her more room as she leafed through the paperwork herself, watching as each request for pastries and folding chairs was taken in by her critical gaze. After a few moments her frown deepened. "I'm sorry, Sir. I must have grabbed these out of the wrong bin. I'll fix this right away."
The rest of the inhabitants of the office watched as she collected the stack of papers into her arms and swiftly exited the room. Once the door was shut, Havoc leaned back in his seat, propping his feet up on the corner of his desk, and stared at Roy. "Decorations would have been good for the parties, Sir."
Roy turned to study his reflection in one of the file cabinets. "Good thinking! Write me a report on the merits of ribbons versus streamers and have it on my desk by the end of the day," he turned to his subordinates with a grin, "and don't be sloppy. I want research. I'll have you know Sergeant Connors wrote a beautiful piece on the benefits of chocolate cake versus vanilla. Don't let yourself be outdone by a Sergeant, Second Lieutenant." Fuery stared at him indignantly and the men laughed before turning back to their individual work, visions of beautiful gown-clad women and delicious pastries no doubt clouding what concentration they had left. Roy continued to study his reflection (he was such a handsome devil), resigning himself to wait - what was taking so long, anyway? - until Hawkeye, the harbinger of monotony, returned.
He was only somewhat less enthused when the correct stack ended up being twice as large. A miracle, really. He would remind her to thank Edward Elric for that later.
"Sir, Breda's on the phone. It's about Fullmetal again."
Well, maybe not.