Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Family ❯ Chess ( Chapter 5 )

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

Chapter V: Chess

The white knight was mocking him.

It was staring up at him with that stupid grin perpetually engraved on its plastic, horsy façade, laughing at him, saying to him in a whinnying voice, “I'm going to take your queen and there's nothing you can do about it. Nyah, nyah, nyah!”

Well, Ed wasn't going to stand for that! No, sir. He was gonna transmute that little booger into a pile of plastic goo—basic alchemy, but still effective against miniature, white horse statues if he did say so himself.

“It's your move, Major Elric.”

“I know, sir,” Edward grumpily replied to the Major General. “I'm . . . contemplating.”

“Hm . . .” was the only response to this.

- + -

Roy watched from his seat at the now cleared dining room table with amusement as his lover thought hard over his next move. From what he could see, Ed really was screwed. Only one move remained and that was sacrificing his queen to stay out of check—a move which Ed, Roy knew, wasn't going to make without putting up a fight. The fact that the Major General already had a large pile of Ed's black players accumulated near his right elbow only appeared to be inciting more hostility in the youth and Ed wasn't about to sacrifice his best piece.

Screwed.

Also, the fact that Edward wasn't particularly skilled at chess—or at any game that required him to patiently sit and think for long periods of time, for that matter—came into play. Roy knew this because, at some point after the inception (or conception, depending on how one chose to view it) of their relationship, he had attempted to teach the chibi alchemist how to play. The game had been comically short and resulted in Ed launching one of the surprisingly missile-like bishops at Roy's head in anger.

Nope, Ed did not like chess one bit.

Of course, when the blonde had told the Major General this after the man insisted that anyone who stayed in a Mustang home know how to play chess, said outranking officer had smirked in a hauntingly familiar way and had ordered Edward to play a game with him. Now, Roy was just waiting for the explosion.

Surely, there would soon be bits of blonde hair, red coat, and automail covering his once immaculate living room.

Tamalynn—bless her heart—was hovering over the teen, doing her best to soothe him and make sure that he didn't try to do something stupid—like, say, launch himself across the little table that the two men had set up to play and strangle her father in a fit of rage. Now, only twenty or so minutes into the game, the young woman was watching Ed with a perplexed look on her face and Roy was sure that she was wondering as to how anyone could be so atrociously bad at chess.

“If he wins that game,” came the voice of his mother from across the table, “it would really impress your father.”

Roy smiled and turned his attention back to the small cup of now lukewarm after-dinner coffee sitting before him. “Or kill him,” he added in an apathetic voice. “Either way, I'd be happy . . .”

Mai Yao Mustang suddenly got a mouthful of acid. “Roy Edan Mustang! Do not speak about your father in that manner,” she said forcefully, her voice very nearly dripping fire. “You should not, so lightly, wish death upon him!”

Roy sighed and attempted to soothe his usually more demure parent. “Yes, Mother,” he quietly conceded, not at all surprised by her outburst; after all, he had long ago become accustomed to his mother going from delicate flower to spitting viper, then back to said flower again, all in a matter of mere seconds.

It was no longer a shock to him.

He sipped his coffee and asked nonchalantly, “Why do you care if he impresses Father? What's he to you?”

Almost as if nothing happened, his mother smoothed out her ruffled feathers and picked up her own cup of coffee before she answered. “Hm . . . I'm less concerned about him than I am about your well-being. If he impresses your father, perhaps then, Gerald might grow fond of him . . . which would make things much easier on you.” The response was slow and quiet and sounded to Roy as if she was carefully choosing her words before she spoke them. His mother had always been the soft-spoken type—even when she would be fussing at Tamalynn and himself about something that they had broken, it would somehow come out in low, almost calm tones.

This was different. This was her talking quietly . . . intentionally.

Roy, not taking his cup away from his lips, peered over the rim at the older woman seated across from him. She had the delicate, porcelain teacup clutched in her thin hands, black eyes closed, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

Shit.

The colonel sat down his cup with a quiet clink and was trying to force down the panic in his chest before he asked her what she meant by that; however, before he could sum up the courage, she looked up at him and asked serenely, “So, what is he like?”

“Huh?” Roy blinked. “Like? You mean Ed?”

Her eyes flashed. “Yes, Roy . . . Ed. What's he like?”

Double shit.

With his heart fluttering in his chest and his intestines curling up into a cat's cradle of anxious knots, Roy quickly complimented himself on his ability to maintain his stoic mask. Picking up his coffee once more with both hands—needing to hold onto something to keep the bastards from trembling—he harrumphed. “Edward Elric is an overly-confident, obtrusive, arrogant, garish, loud-mouthed little brat—”

At this, Roy half-expected Ed to come shooting into the dining room, ranting about how he wasn't so small that he could trip over a grain of salt or some such nonsense.

“—with a god complex and an ego as big as his co- mouth . . . as big as his mouth.”

Fuck!

No one could have corrected themselves as quickly (or as unsmoothly, for that matter) as Roy had done just then to cover up his not-so-little slip of the tongue. He had to give himself some internal pummeling at that point—dammit, that had been too close . . . and he still wasn't sure whether or not his mother hadn't actually caught it.

Though, as Mai Yao cocked her head slightly and said, “Really? He seems like a nice boy,” then went back to nursing her cup of coffee, Roy let out a silent sigh of relief and almost patted himself on the back as he took another sip out of his own cup.

Almost.

“So, what's it like having him under you?”

Roy choked.

The cooled liquid exited his mouth in a gush as he coughed, meeting with the smooth oaken surface of his table and coating it in a thin sheen of brownish-black droplets. Hacking loudly into his gloved hand, Roy looked up at his mother through squinted, watery eyes. “H-how . . .? W-when . . . when d-did you know?” he managed through his coughing fit.

“What?” she replied calmly, unmoved by her son's overzealous reaction. “I was simply asking how you like having him as a subordinate—him being the great Fullmetal Alchemist: Hero of the People. That's all,” she stated with an innocent shrug and a not-so-innocent smile.

Shit, shit, shit!

Roy finally set down his cup onto its saucer with a clatter, knowing that he was grasping the delicate, bone china handle with far more force that it could manage without breaking. His hands now free, he wiped the droplets of coffee from his face—his ungloved palms doing little more than to rub the sticky liquid into his skin—and then sighed loudly. “Really Mother . . .” he said in an aggravated tone, an eye twitching. “When did you know?”

There was a small, feminine giggle. “When we pulled up into the driveway.”

A long, shocked silence followed, punctuated only by the harsh ticking of the dining room clock and a gruff shout of “Will you hurry up already?”—courtesy of the Major General—emanating from the living room.

Roy swallowed hard, forcing his heart back down into his ribcage where it belonged, and asked incredulously, “God, were we that obvious?” He thought that the two of them had been able to control themselves in public better than that—there was no kissing, touching, hand holding, sweet/dirty talk, nothing. Maybe a slip of the first name ever so often at the office and an occasional lecherous look that lasted a bit longer than it should—but nothing that could really be considered as glaringly obvious proof of their relationship, could it? Dammit, how many people knew about him and the blonde, but were just too polite or scared to tell them to stop fondling each other in public to their faces.

His mother chuckled politely into her hand and set down her cup, drawing his attention. “No, not really,” she said with a small shake of her head, and the tense knot in Roy's chest loosened somewhat. “Actually, your father and Tamalynn were having a discussion over whether or not you should keep the hydrangeas out front, so they didn't see; however, I was looking at the two of you from the window. Edward was watching the car, but you . . . you were watching him.” The woman paused to scan the delicate structure of her son's now pallid face, watching for the reaction in his eyes. “That look you had . . . I've only seen it once before—your father used to gaze at me that way when he thought that I wasn't looking at him.”

In that instant, Roy's entire body simply went slack—his grip on the edge of the tabletop loosened, the muscles in his neck and back that had tightened up relaxed, his lungs let out the breath they didn't realize they were holding—and he shifted his eyes away from his mother's tranquil face. Of course. How could she notknow? Mothers know everything . . .

Dammit.

“How long?” she asked.

The colonel sighed. “We've . . . been together for about five months now,” he replied quietly, gazing out into the living room at his lover, who still hadn't made his move apparently.

A pause, then: “Do you love him?”

Straight to Final Jeopardy.

Roy's breath hitched in his throat for a second and he turned back to his mother. The woman was gazing at him with a look of serious intrigue, caring, and love in her dark eyes and the relief that he had unknowingly hoped to feel for so long suddenly flooded his system. The question, accompanied with the revelation that both his mother and sister now knew that he was having sex with another man, should have brought about a very different sensation: fear, anger, disgust, confusion . . . or any combination of these et al. However, Roy was so immensely relieved that his mother wasn't now looking at him with an expression of utter revulsion on her face that he really didn't care.

He exhaled heavily and let his eyes glaze over in deep thought over the question; after a long time, the young man finally shrugged and said, “I don't know.” He watched briefly as a strange look overtook his mother's graceful features, and then turned back to stare out into the living room. By now, his father had turned a rather ugly puce colour and Roy could see a large vein throbbing in his temple.

“How can you not know if you love someone?” his mother asked calmly.

The Flame shrugged again. “I don't know . . .” he repeated. “I . . . care about him. Deeply. Whether or not that's love . . . I just don't know.”

His mother made an amused sound, but said nothing and Roy chose not to respond. He was deep in thought.

Did he love Ed? It didn't seem possible—when they began, there hadn't been flowers or movie tickets or picnics in the park, watching the clouds roll by like normal romances. No. When they began, there had been a flash of power and reactivity to rival that of sodium and water—they had clashed together with a fierce, passionate need, sated only by the feel of each others' skin, and what had followed had been explosive and orgasmic and wonderful and terrible as only first times could be.

Roy had laid there awake for a long time afterwards, wondering if what they had done had been wrong and wondering if Ed would forgive him. Of course, said blonde alchemist had then rolled over, kicked him in the shin with his automail foot, and told him that he was thinking too hard. Five months later, and an unstable, but somehow strong relationship had formed—whether it was built on lust or convenience or real love, Roy didn't know.

He did know that the last person that he had given his heart to had broken it. They had rejected his love, run off, and gotten married to someone else, leaving him all alone . . . and he didn't want that a second time.

He didn't think that his heart could handle it.

“Love is too hard,” he said finally.

Without missing a beat, his mother responded, “I didn't think that love was supposed to be easy.”

Roy let his eyelids droop slightly as he turned his attention back to her. She had a passive expression on her face, as if she was expecting a retort from him, but wasn't trying to force it from him. The dark-haired colonel heaved out a pained breath and opened his mouth to try to explain.

Fortunately, he was spared from having to say anything as Ed shouted loudly:

“Ha! King me!”

And slammed a pawn down onto an open square on the Major General's back line, grinning like a madman.

Roy looked over and simply couldn't help himself. He laughed—loudly and with abandon—at the absurdity of his lover's mix-up in games, at the absurdity of his mother's almost non-reaction to the news that her son was gay, at the absurdity of the whole fucking thing. He laughed.

“`King me' . . . is an expression used in checkers, Fullmetal,” he said loudly between the gales of laughter. “Not chess.”

“Oh, shut up!” Ed shouted at him over his shoulder. The Major General's bushy mustache seemed to twitch in annoyance at this show of disrespect, but he didn't say anything.

The colonel just chuckled and shook his head. That move—had it been a legal one and had it been done with one of his pieces—would have saved Edward. However, as it was, the Major General just growled, moved his white pawn back, then sacrificed Ed's queen for him and put him into check, much to the displeasure of the young alchemist.

Roy, his laughter now subsiding, glanced over at his mother with a lopsided grin and said, “Incomparable.”

Mai Yao arched a thin eyebrow and asked, “What is?”

“You asked me before what it was like having Edward `under me'. That's my answer. Incomparable.”

And with that, Roy stood and made his way to the kitchen to fetch himself some more coffee, leaving his mother alone to only shake her head and smile.

- + -

A/N: To my reviewer cyro: The reason that Ed fell out of his chair was an innuendo that Roy said. Go back and read the last few lines of dialogue carefully. Hope that helps.