In which I shall attempt to juggle too many pairings…

Oookay, here be my first attempt at a decent multiple-pairings fic. I suppose you cooould say its bordering on crack, setting-wise, but not really plot-wise or interaction-wise. Also, this fic may reek of my being Australian. I don’t know what beaches are like in other countries, but if it seems, surreal, that’s why. I love the beach.

Warnings: mild language, shounen-ai, no imagination when it comes to titles

Disclaimer: I disclaim…

One more thing, “--” POV change.

Onward!

--

Beach

--

Edward Elric flicked his sopping braid over his shoulder in exasperation. It stuck to his bare back with a dull splat.

He hated having wet hair. He also hated having sandy, itchy legs, unexpected mouthfuls of salty water, and seaweed. Nothing specific about seaweed. Just seaweed in general. It was a revolting shade of green, cold, slimy, irritatingly sticky, and omnipresent all along the shoreline.

However, even the combined effect of all of these pet hates was nowhere near enough to quell Edward’s undying love of the beach.

He was perched on a too-warm slab of stone, with his feet and ankles dabbling in one of the deeper rock pools. He gave a contented sigh, which was immediately followed by an annoyed grunt at the small fish which had deigned to nibble on his toes.

Edward kept checking over his shoulder at the main stretch of shoreline, to make sure none of the distant figures had come too close. He didn’t really feel like talking to anyone right now, it was all too likely that they’d just ruin his mood.

Of course, he was technically on an assignment. Edward grinned at the thought. Work. Work on the beach. “ Work” and “beach” did not go together at all. Thankfully, the lead had been relatively useless and Edward now had full permission to stay at the beach for the rest of the afternoon, provided he kept an eye on things in case anything came up.

And, it had given him the perfect excuse to ship his younger brother off to visit Aunt Pinako and Winry. Edward couldn’t be sure he’d get back before dark, and his brother was not as strong as he used to be. Well, of course he wasn’t. No human body was as strong as steel armour, and Edward was grateful for Al’s weaknesses, because they reassured them both that the younger boy was most definitely human again.

They weren’t just physical weaknesses either. Edward snickered to himself, remembering how his brother had behaved last time they had gone to visit the Rockbell’s. Oh, he’d been fine with the older woman, who had enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug for several minutes before devoting rapt attention to Edward’s arm.

And then Winry had come in, all smiles and teary eyes, and Al had stammered and hugged her awkwardly and blushed every time she spoke to him, which was at least twice as often as she spoke to anyone else in the house. He had also made lots of excuses to be elsewhere, and Edward had amused himself by thwarting these routinely.

“R-really, Winry-san? That sounds really useful. I never knew you could flip pancakes with a socket wrench. Uh, I just remembered I have to ask Aunty Pinako something. I’ll be back later.”

“Really, Al? What do you have to ask her?”

“Uh, about the…the…ah…fixing the stove in our flat, nee-san. It’s broken, remember?”

“Well, there’s a mechanic sitting right in front of you, Al.”

Al had flushed and lowered his eyes, and it had taken him a good twenty seconds to muster the courage to speak to Winry again. Heh heh. That was definitely an interesting day.

This was so much better, though. He’d had time to plan it.

He hadn’t called Al, he’d gone straight to Pinako.

“Oh, please Aunty, I have to stay at work late, maybe overnight – okay, so maybe he’d lied a bit as well – and I don’t want to leave Al alone, he’s still not completely recovered his strength, could you look after him for the night?”

If Pinako had seen right through the act to his true intentions, then she had agreed with them wholeheartedly because she had assured him profusely that Al would be coming to stay with them.

And there was no way his brother could resist Aunt Pinako. Even if he had, she would have walked up there and dragged him to her house bodily. The old woman was wonderful like that.

Edward smiled and stretched his flesh arm out in front of him.

It was shaping up to be a good day.

Edward closed his eyes and tilted his face upward, revelling in the warmth of the sun on his face and neck. Of course, the movement made his braid leak a steady stream of cold seawater down his spine and into his shorts, but he was prepared to ignore that for now.

A familiar, irritating voice shouting at someone half a mile away snapped Edward out of his daydreaming.

The entire beach situation could have been much better had Edward been on this mission alone, and not accompanied by half of the sodding military unit, including Mr-Pain-In-The-Butt Colonel Mustang himself. He’d managed to keep distance between them and himself rather consistently since lunch. Not that they were all bad. In fact, most of them were all right - but if he got too close, he would have to tolerate Mustang’s presence and he didn’t feel like being tolerant today.

It didn’t help that “presence” translated as “smirks, barely-veiled insults and condescending glances”. At this point in time, it also meant “not wearing enough clothes”. Colonels were supposed to be in uniform, dammit.

Edward scowled, partly at the rude interruption to his comfortable daze, and partly at the butterflies which seemed to have a habit of making an impromptu appearance inside his stomach every time he heard that voice.

--

“Um, well, sure. I mean, if nee-san said so.” Al winced, wondering if Pinako could hear him blushing over the phone. He knew it was physically impossible, but that woman was scarily good at telling what he was feeling.

“Sure, see you then, bye.”

He hung up at stared at the receiver with growing horror, realising what had just happened, and what that meant was about to happen.

He was about to pack his things, get on a train, and go and visit Pinako Rockbell.

Which was fine. In fact, the company would be great. But then, the company was exactly the problem, wasn’t it?

Winry.

And then he slapped himself mentally because that was a terrible thing to think. The problem wasn’t Winry at all, he was the one with a problem and Winry was this amazing, sweet young woman and he shouldn’t be bringing her down by thinking about her in such a negative way.

He was also angry with himself for not being able to communicate with her properly anymore. They had been almost inseperable when they were younger, best friends, brother and sister. She’d told him all of her secrets (favourite hiding places for dangerous tools her Aunt wouldn’t have let her keep), and all of her problems (Edward) and all the things she was proud of (tools again). And he’d been able to listen and talk about it and comfort her and give advice (probably not the best advice, seeing as he was seven, but it was the effort that counted).

Now he was almost useless as a friend. He knew it, and he knew she noticed it too. She’d give him sad looks when she thought he wasn’t paying attention to her. He always caught them out of the corner of his eye, because it was impossible for him to completely stop watching Winry these days. And then he’d feel sick and ashamed and he’d try again, try, try to speak to her as if they were still best mates and he didn’t want anything more, but he just couldn’t. And she noticed that too.

He’d tried so hard not to let it show, to just lock up his feelings and act normally, but all attempts failed miserably. Every time he saw her, his skin would start tingling and he’d just stop functioning.

He sighed and started folding clothes into his suitcase.

Maybe Winry wouldn’t be staying with her aunt tonight.

--

“I used to surf when I was younger.” Farman remarked, shielding his eyes against the sunlight reflecting off the ocean. Breda snickered. Even Hawkeye had to admit she found the concept amusing.

Mind you, that was about the only amusing thing she had encountered during the entire mission. Most of the soldiers had reverted to mental ages somewhere within the ranges of three to twelve, and were acting accordingly.

At least it wouldn’t affect the surveillance mission.

Roy had given very strict orders that they were to look like ordinary beach-goers. Riza had assured him that no, not all women who went to the beach wore bikinis, in fact over half of them just wore t-shirts and shorts, and that was what she would be wearing, thank you very much.

Not that she was worried about undue attention from the Colonel himself. He was, as she had expected, far too busy appearing as if he wasn’t looking at anyone in particular. And that if he was, which he wasn’t, it certainly wasn’t one of his own subordinates. Especially not, say, a certain hot-headed blonde. And that still could have been Hawkeye, couldn’t it, if it were anyone. The description fitted her as well. It wasn’t as if he was the only option left.

In all honesty, she almost felt sorry for the Colonel. If there was anyone with “NOT INTERESTED”stencilled across their forehead in big pouting, glaring letters, it was Edward.

Then again…

She smiled. There was no need to be so very, very obviously disinterested if you actually weren’t interested.

Which still didn’t help her current situation.

Even in her t-shirt, she felt a little uncomfortable about the way Breda kept looking at her. A few times back there she had been tempted to pull out her gun, but that would have drawn far too much attention. She settled for keeping Hayate at “heel”, which just meant Breda ogled her over a distance and with a revolted sneer at the dog. And Farman and a few of the others sneaked an occasional appraising glance, which served to irritate her further.

Hawkeye rubbed the bridge of her nose. Havoc and Breda were taking turns at ducking Farman under the waves, laughing and calling him “the great surfer”.

Now that was something she hadn’t expected. Complete inattention from the second Lieutenant. Oh, not that he wasn’t renowned for complete inattention to most things, unless someone’s life was in danger. But she had anticipated more of the sideways glances from him, what with Havoc being such an avid supporter of Roy’s miniskirt movement.

As if that wasn’t a joke in itself. Roy seemed perfectly happy gawking at tight black leather trousers. He shifted slightly on the beach towel on which he was lying so that he could meet her gaze.

“You should put a shirt on, Sir. You’ll get sunburnt.”

Roy smiled, and stretched his arms out over his head.

“And disappoint all my admirers?” He gestured with his hand and sure enough, there were a fair few young women around the beach watching him with not-so-subtle fascination. His knee-length shorts only just clung to his hips, his stomach was toned, and he was posing like a star. If it wasn’t for the pasty skin and too-short, too-dark hair he could have passed for a regular beachgoer.

“But perhaps not the attention you want, Sir?”

Roy’s eyes flashed. His face was suddenly back in its normal military expression. Emotionless.

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Hawkeye smiled. He wouldn’t push the issue too far, he couldn’t push the issue too far.

“I wasn’t aware that what I said had any hidden meaning, Sir. Just a suggestion.”

Roy did not move his eyes from hers; he was trying desperately to read her expression as she turned away.

She heard him grunt and roll over again. He just happened to be facing the rock pools. There was nothing wrong with that. He had to face some direction, after all.

“You really should go and talk to him.” she called, and walked away smiling slightly as Roy sputtered into the sand.

--

end chapter.

--

a/n: reviews would be much appreciated, because this is my first attempt at this sort of fic, and it’s been a loooong while since I’ve written Roy/Ed.