Descent

Chapter Twelve

When Jean thought about it, Edward had been acting really odd lately. No, scratch that, since he had rejoined the military a month ago. He'd been all cheerful and outgoing as long as Jean had known him, but since that call to the Fuhrer's office his first day on the job, he'd been more closed off than usual. He'd kept to himself all the time, he was really jumpy, and he didn't make jokes. He handled his work with a fierce determination that bordered on perfectionist obsession, then, as soon as he was finished, he would seclude himself in the firing range. Jean had visited him once when he'd gone down there, and he had been absolutely astonished at how excellent his aim was. The whole time Jean had watched him, he hadn't missed once, and he'd set the target all the way back to one hundred and twenty feet already. His focus was intense and a little scary. no kid should look that way Edward did while doing his work or shooting a gun, yet Ed did, and it gave Jean the feeling that something was seriously wrong with the kid.

He'd tried talking to him, honestly tried, but Edward refused to confide in anybody what was bothering him, not even Mustang, who, as word had gotten round pretty quickly, was now his legal guardian, whom he was living with. But maybe that was what was wrong with him, he pondered as he walked toward the firing range to practice with his rifle. It was no secret that Ed and Roy had never exactly gotten along. Maybe that was why he was so bothered, maybe he just didn't like living with Mustang.

But there was also his movements that were troubling.

As much as Edward tried to hide it, Jean couldn't help but notice that the kid always seemed to be limping. Once, last week, Jean had covertly watched him leave the office, heading, predictably, toward the firing range, and he had noticed that every step Ed took a look of agony flashed through his golden eyes, and, another time, three days ago, Jean had walked into the men's bathroom, and caught Ed looking at a terrible bruise on his side, over the ribs, which Edward hastily covered up when he realized Jean was there. He had asked him how he'd gotten it, and Edward had smiled and set he'd tripped on his way down the stairs that morning, but Jean thought it had sounded extremely rehearsed. He hadn't believed Edward for a second, but he didn't drill him about it either. After all, everyone had something they wanted to hide, and it wasn't fair to try and force a person to reveal secrets they didn't want to. It wasn't like it was a child abuse investigation or something absurd like that. But, all the same, he still wished Ed would open up to him a bit, or Mustang. Mustang would be able to help him; Mustang knew how to help everybody. Jean wished Hawkeye still worked at the office, she would know what to say to him. As much as he envied her home-working hours, he wished she'd come back to the office. Mustang was doing a lot off slacking without her here.

He sighed as he reached the entrance to the firing range, grabbing a rifle and a pair of earmuffs, and he put them on as he signed his name on the record sheet, right under Edward's. He walked inside and the sound of gunshots echoed across the walls, and he walked into the booth next to where Edward was rapidly firing bullets from his handgun.

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

Heart, head, left hand, right hand, left leg, right leg, stomach. Holy shit, this kid was expert. Already! Jean had to admit to himself that even he wasn't quite that perfect in his aim. Jean put his hand on Ed's shoulder as he passed, and the kid jumped a mile, accidentally loosing two more bullets (right shoulder, right rib-cage) in his fright. He whirled round, eyes wide with terror, but he relaxed when he realized it was just Jean. He blew out a breath, yanked the earmuffs of his head, and said sorry.