Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Family ❯ Dinner ( Chapter 4 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Chapter IV: Dinner

Monday night supper arrived amid much pomp and circumstance, dressed up with parsley or kale and steaming on large silver platters. The two cooks that Ed loved, but could never seem to find when he wanted a snack, made multiple trips to and from the kitchen, laying down a tray of country fried potatoes or roast pork or a bowl of thick, brown gravy and then heading back for more.

It seemed like far too much food for only five people—but anyone who knew of Edward Elric and his monstrous appetite realized just why the chefs had prepared a feast that was usually reserved for large parties, weddings, sacrificial offerings to Pagan gods, Bar Mitzvahs, and the like.

A platter of honey-glazed, spiral-cut ham was placed before him and—in much the same way that Pavlov got the salivary reaction from his famed canine companion—the clatter of the metal against the table, coupled with the heavenly aroma wafting off of the meat, made Ed drool. He was famished and the thin, almost insipid soup that the family et al had consumed before the actual meal had arrived had done little to sate his hunger.

Licking his dry lips in want, the blonde stretched out his hand to retrieve a slice of perfectly cooked ham . . . and was quickly rewarded with the painful tap of a metal knife handle against his knuckles, courtesy of the Major General.

“Yow!” Edward screeched as he yanked his hand back and cradled it near his chest. Glaring daggers at the man, the Fullmetal asked heatedly, “What the hell was that for?” Fiery blue orbs swiveled up to his face and Ed's constitution faltered at tad. “S-sir,” he added as a shaky afterthought.

The Major General scowled and stated gruffly, “No one at this table will eat until all of the food has been presented and we say grace.”

Edward frowned and put a hand to his stomach as it rumbled unhappily. “But I'm hungry now,” he muttered to no one in particular.

Bushy eyebrows rose in admonishment and the eldest Mustang held up his butter knife once more. “Do you want the knife again?” he questioned in a rather condescending voice.

Ed, being vehemently opposed to getting hit with a knife handle once more, quickly shook his head, causing his blonde bangs to fly about haphazardly, and tucked his hands down into his lap. The Major General nodded at him brusquely, then turned away to watch as Rufus—the shorter, portlier, and paler of Roy's two chefs—cleared a place for a tin of candied yams. Taking advantage of the man's inattention, the Fullmetal glanced across the table at his lover and lifted an angry eyebrow.

`What the hell?'

Roy, who seemed to find the whole thing extremely entertaining, hid his amused smirk behind his hand and tried to make his eyes look sympathetic.

`I'm . . . sorry? Don't try to take the ham next time.'

Ed scowled deeply and made a small noise of displease in the back of his throat, drawing the attention of Tamalynn. She watched in a mix of dull amusement and mild consternation as her brother and his boyfriend silently argued back and forth across the table. `Maybe if someone would have given me some sort of warning that he was a hitter, I wouldn't have sat next to him!'

On Roy's part, there was a theatric spin of black eyes and a pursing of lips. `He's a prick, Ed. Just ignore him.'

Edward made a sour face. `How can I ignore him? Not only is he sitting right next to me, but I have to spend a whole week with him! You give it a try!'

The colonel rolled his eyes once again. Though he wasn't sure that that was exactly what Ed had thought, he knew that it was pretty close. Over the course of their relationship together—not only as lovers, but also as subordinate and commander, fellow alchemists, and friends—he and the blonde had gotten pretty good at talking without having to actually talk.

Subliminal communication.

He moved his elbow out of the way as a woven basket, filled to the brim with fluffy, buttered rolls, was placed on the table by Fosco—his other chef. And with that, the two men bowed in farewell and retreated back into the kitchen. Ed hoped that they had gone off to start on dessert—with any luck, it would be that lemon meringue pie that he was so fond of.

“Very good,” the Major General commented, eyeing the feast approvingly. “Those two haven't lost their touch. Still know how to make a meal fit for a king.”

The fact that the eldest Mustang had probably been referring to himself when he made this remark did not slip past the two alchemists; Ed very subtly rolled his golden eyes at the irony of the statement and Roy had the good sense not to look too smug. The Major General probably knew nothing of his son's ambitions to become fuhrer, owing to the fact that he was a higher ranking officer and he would, like many of the other higher ranking officers, most likely see it as an act of treason.

For that reason, Edward guessed that his lover hadn't told his father of his goal.

“Yes,” Roy concurred languidly, a coy smirk playing on his lips. “They certainly do.”

There was a moment of silence around the table, before Tamalynn finally spoke. “So, we just gonna sit here all night looking at it? Let's say grace and tuck in.”

Ed's stomach not-so-silently agreed with this and he nodded his assent.

The Major General huffed, folding his hands before him with an apathetic grace that a man of his size shouldn't possess, and turned his head to look down at the blonde seated next to him. “Would you care to lead us in the prayer, Major Elric?”

Prayer?

Stuck somewhere between looking sheepish and scandalized, Ed silently opened and closed his mouth several times, before finally stammering out, “I-I . . . I'm not . . . I mean, I don't know any . . .”

“Fullmetal is an atheist,” Roy concluded for him, watching as his father twitched slightly at the last word. “He doesn't know any prayers, so don't force him to try and recite one.”

The older man harrumphed and looked back at Ed. “That true?”

The blonde spared his lover a sarcastically thankful glance, before he turned back to the Major General. “Yessir,” he stated in a clipped voice; he would have preferred to say, `Yeah; what of it, you shithead?' . . . but that probably would have gotten him killed.

He wanted to impress the man, not get his face pounded in for insulting him.

The Major General clicked his tongue disapprovingly, a look of disdain settling over his features and sinking deep into his cobalt eyes; he then turned away from Ed to his daughter and said, “Tamalynn, do you mind saying grace since Major Elric seems to be so hopelessly inept?”

The Fullmetal glowered at the back of the man's head.

Sighing, the dark-haired girl let her gaze linger on Edward for a short moment of pity, and then snapped back to her father. “No problem, sir.”

- + -

Dinner progressed smoothly—well, as smoothly as one could expect when there was an obscure, yet unintentional presentation of the true love's final five gifts of the twelve days of Christmas going on at Roy's table:

Five hungry people; four Mustangs; three Amestris officers; two alchemists; and Ed, stuck next to the Major General, with a pear tree shoved up his ass.

Though, the blonde had to admit—and it was a small, microscopic acknowledgement at that—that the man wasn't a complete and utter asshole when he got sufficiently liquored up. He was actually almost pleasant.

Almost.

Edward politely chuckled at a dumb joke that the eldest Mustang had cracked and then reached over to retrieve a bowl of mashed potatoes that he had been eyeing. However, tipsy though the Major General may be, he still apparently didn't approve of the blonde reaching across the table to get something. Picking up his knife, he ever-so-gently popped Ed across his knuckles once again.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how badly you want to keep secrets—it had been Ed's right hand that he had hit this time. The harsh, melodic ping of metal against metal rang out through the quiet dining room.

Mai Yao and Tamalynn stared; Major General Gerald Mustang arched a curious eyebrow; and Roy nonchalantly lifted his glass and took another sip of his wine. Ed, undeterred by this development, silently fetched the bowl and brought it back to sit next to him, all the while staring out the corner of his golden eye at the Major General.

“Automail?” the man asked as Ed scooped out a dollop of whipped potatoes and dropped it unceremoniously onto his plate.

“Yeah . . . my arm and left leg,” the blonde replied, patting his knee for emphasis.

The Major General wiped his mouth with his napkin and turned in his seat to face the young alchemist. “I've always wondered why Bradley would give such a harsh name to a child.” Roy noticed Ed's right eye twitch, but the teen held his composure. “How did you lose your limbs?” he asked coolly.

Edward turned back to his plate and, picking up his fork, began to shovel his newly-acquired potatoes into his mouth as he simultaneously spewed out the faux explanation of how he and his two appendages had parted company. “In the rebellion. My brother and I got into some trouble—there was a skirmish and I went to protect him and . . . well, you know the rest. That friend who's visiting right now is also an automail engineer—she got me fixed up.”

Instead of the sympathetic look and pitying apology that the Fullmetal had come to expect from this story, the Major General made an unpleased sound in the back of his thick throat and looked over at his son. “He has no manners, does he?” Ed blinked and confusedly looked up at the man, mouth still loaded with food, cheeks puckered out like a chipmunk. “Carrying on a conversation with his mouth full of food.”

Edward scowled and harrumphed, not caring if the eldest Mustang heard him, then swallowed and turned back to continue working on his plate. Roy chuckled and inclined his head in a small nod. “Yes . . . I tell him all the time not to speak with a full mouth . . . but he never listens.”

Fork halfway to his open mouth, Ed froze and glanced up at his lover. Roy very subtly winked at him.

And Ed fell out of his chair.