A fullmetal alchemist fanfic


Date: 11/2/2016 11:00 am

Summary: You don't disobey Lieutenant Hawkeye's orders. Whatever she wants you to do, you do it. One day, she tells Ed to drink his milk. So… bottom's up, he supposed.

A/N: Yes, I realize it's been eight months or so since I posted anything. I promise, I am fully aware. And I UNDERSTAND, it has been over three years since I posted anything FMA. But as it tends to happen, July came, and my FMA obsession came back. Heh. Whatever. Anyway, this was initially posted to tumblr for Parental!RoyEd week 2016, but I wanted to add it here, so here we are. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA. Are people still doing these?

When he was focused, Mustang noticed that Ed gave off some kind of wave. The kind that made you want to back away from him, not bother him at all. He'd kind of known it for a while, which was why he always had plenty of space in the library or why Ed and Al didn't normally have to fight through crowds (although Alphonse's large, armor-laden presence probably had something to do with that). He hadn't thought, though, that this wave would keep people away in a crowded place like the mess, where more often than not, soldiers had to squish beside peers and disliked ones to fit.

Thankfully, Mustang had long ago learned to disregard this 'wave'. At least it gave him plenty of space to sit, even stretch out a little.

He didn't offer Ed a greeting when he made it over to him, just dropped his tray and took a seat. Ed glanced up his way, scowled for a split second, but didn't comment, just turned back to his book. Hawkeye was several spaces down in line, so it would take her a little longer to get there. Havoc and the others were scattered throughout the mess, having come down earlier and apparently not noticed the shrimp. Hmmph. No surprise there.

The colonel snickered inwardly and shook his head, looking over the boy before him. His neck was craned awkwardly, in a way that made Mustang's neck hurt just looking at it. The book he was reading from had to be one and a half times the size of Ed's inflated head. Occasionally, Ed would look down at the seat beside him and concentrate—he probably had a notebook there.

"It would be infinitely easier if you'd put your journal on the table like most people might do."

Ed glared at him. "Shut up," he snapped, then turned back to his book.

Mustang crossed his ankles and stretched them out, no doubt invading Ed's space though he had little care. "Of course," he said, looking thoughtfully to the wall, "if you can't see over the table, maybe the book on the seat—"


Ed smacked his automail hand on the book and glared at him heatedly. "I hope you're not implying what I think you're implying…?"

Mustang smirked, deepening Ed's scowl intensely. As he watched, Ed's automail tightened into a fist, and Mustang could read the words 'I will not punch the colonel, I will not punch the colonel' running through his eyes.

"Why, Fullmetal, I don't believe that I know what you mean."

The soldier sitting nearest to Ed, still a few seats down, shot them a nervous glance, as if he feared that one of their famous Flame Vs Fullmetal arguments was about to start right then. The woman sitting directly behind Ed pushed herself uncomfortably close to the table she sat at.

Ed opened his mouth to say something, glanced around, and decided against it. "Whatever, colonel. I've got more important things to do than be teased." He turned back to his book, hunkering closer to it to say that he was not to be disturbed.

Mustang didn't say, "well, I doubt that," although it took a remarkable amount of willpower to not do so. Really, it was just too much fun teasing the boy.

Instead, he said, "then hop to it," and turned to his meal, bringing his legs much closer to his person for safety.

Ed growled weakly and again Mustang could see him fight the desire to clobber him. He went back to his learning, occasionally taking a bite from the food on his tray.

After a few moments, Mustang's gaze drifted to Ed's tray. He would never, especially not if asked, admit it, but he had a habit of doing this. He knew that Ed could eat a horse and still be hungry, but he didn't always have the means or funds to do so. Ed in fact needed to do so, supposedly, since when he ate what Mustang would deem enough, his stomach would still be growling. It had become a personal habit of his to look over the boy's tray when he sat down with him and make sure he was eating enough, of the right stuff, to keep his energy up and effective. And it wasn't entirely unknown for him to pass off something from his tray. Ed wouldn't notice unless he was paying total attention to his meal. He would just grab onto the next thing on his tray and keep going.

He knew he wasn't the only one to do it. He was just a little more secretive than the others. Ed would take anything from Hawkeye if offered, and most things from the guys, but unless he had no clue about it or had directly asked (which he never did), he would accept nothing from Mustang.

At least he seemed to be getting enough today. Or he was too distracted to remember to eat. Mustang distinctly remembered Al telling him that Ed had that habit. Back when he could eat, apparently Al had that habit as well.

Most everything on the tray had been devoured already, except the roll of bread with a giant bite out of it and a cookie he must have connived out of one of the other officers. There was one thing, though, that sat untouched, brightest white, sitting there innocently in its glass and waiting to be gulped down.

Mustang snickered aloud this time. Really, Fullmetal was so predictable.

"Seriously, Fullmetal. Drink your milk."

Ed had paid a small amount of attention once Mustang snickered, because for him that could almost never be a good thing. As soon as Mustang spoke up, though, Ed's antenna went ramrod straight as if it had a mind of his own, and his entire body tensed.



Ed's left fist clenched around his pen. "I'm not drinking cow juice."

"Cow juice," Mustang repeated blankly, lifting his brows. He had to be joking.

"No! I'm not drinking it! I told them I didn't want any but nooooooo, they wouldn't take that, said I was already—" Ed tensed again and glared at the table, then turned away. "No."

"You sound like a petulant child," Mustang said, rolling his eyes. He picked up his own glass of milk and swirled it around in his glass. "Why not drink it? Tell you what—just half the glass."

"How about we settle for none and call it good?" Ed snapped. "It's none of your damn business how much milk I drink!"

"I believe it is, since I am your superior and, since you are a minor, responsible for your wellbeing. Come on, now, Fullmetal, you're not allergic to the stuff, so it won't kill you. Just drink it!"

"I told you, I'm not drinking anything secreted from any sort of farm animal! It's disgusting and unsanitary!"

Mustang sighed, still swirling the glass. "Fullmetal, come now. I drank my milk all the time when I was younger, and look at me." He took a big sip and set the glass aside. "I'm a damn tree."

"If I don't wanna drink it, then I'm not gonna drink it! And I don't wanna, so I'm not gonna! Now shut up!"

"Touchy," Mustang said, deciding to shut up. He could feel a headache coming on. He was glad that Ed had already stopped in for his report, and so would probably just head back to the library afterward.

"What's going on?" Hawkeye finally arrived, dropping into the seat beside Mustang. Mustang nodded at her in greeting.

"Mustang's getting personal," Ed tattled spitefully, taking a huge bite from his roll.

"Oh?" Hawkeye rolled her eyes, glancing from man to boy. She shook her head. "It's his job, Edward. He's got to do something to deserve his pay, lord knows he doesn't do paperwork for it."

"Hey. I resemble that statement," Mustang said fairly, shooting Hawkeye a withering glance.

Ed grumbled something under his breath, taking another bite of roll. He shoved his tray out of the way, not-so-accidentally bumping it into Mustang's, and continued reading.

Hawkeye eyed his tray, at first due to the rough treatment, until she noticed the full glass of milk sitting there, sloshing about. She rolled her eyes and turned down to her sandwich. "Ed, drink your milk."

Just as before, Ed stiffened, and turned to glare at her. "No! I'm not drinking that crap!"

Hawkeye didn't respond, didn't even bat an eyelash. She just continued to quietly eat.

"I'm not! I'm really, really not!"

Hawkeye scooped up some peas and got started on those. She was halfway through her sandwich, but wanted to make sure she knocked these out—peas were some of her least favorite vegetables, but she had been craving a vegetable since early on, and that was all they had.

"I'm not!" Ed insisted. "I'm really, super not, and there's nothing you can say to change my mind!" He looked thoroughly put out that Hawkeye wasn't paying him attention.

Mustang just looked between the two blonds, waiting for the outcome. This would be good.

Hawkeye took her own glass—filled with water rather than milk—and took a few sips, before innocently setting it aside.

Ed's pitch rose in volume, as if trying desperately to catch her attention. "I-I'm not drinking anything taken from anywhere off of a cow! I'm not! It's gross and unsanitary and it won't help me grow so I don't think it matters!"

All that she did, all that she had to do, was peek up at him. She didn't even lift her head, just her brows.

And Ed deflated. He looked at her, expecting her to understand, to not make him drink this nasty beverage, but she gave no such indication. He was fully expected to drink it.

Ed scowled sharply and snatched the drink up, glaring at it. He swirled it around as if trying to put off the inevitable, before he tossed his head back and downed it all in one go. He set the glass aside and shuddered, clapped a hand over his mouth as he gagged, then turned a glare at Hawkeye and turned back to his meal, working his tongue through his mouth to rid it of the horrible taste.

Hawkeye looked back at her tray, smirking lightly. She ignored her commander, who was again snickering to himself, propping his elbow on the table to try and sustain his giggles.

"You, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, are a damn godsend."