Descent

Chapter Thirteen

It had been three days, and so far, the General had kept his promise not to hurt Ed again. Edward was having severe difficulty believing that this was actually true, and kept expecting Mustang to cave in and hit him at some point, but, as of yet, that hadn't happened. For Edward, it was like a hurricane had passed by, taking away everything he held dear and destroying it (His fiancee, his house, his health, his pride), and then, after rampaging non-stop for a period of time that seemed to never end, it abruptly ceased, leaving Edward standing alone and trembling in the wreckage. He hadn't yet stopped flinching at everything that got close to him, but his injuries were slowly beginning to feel less and less fatal. Some of the older bruises had begun to clear up that morning, not having been subjected to any extra punishment. His cracked ribs were still giving him hurry-curry, but he was used to that particular pain already. The various burns that painted his skin were still just that -burning, and they weren't ever going away, they would stay on his skin long after the pain had faded. Just another collection of scars to add to his collection, he supposed.

He sighed, now, recalling the conversation from the first night following Roy's promise.

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They'd been eating dinner, Mustang had cooked pasta with various vegetables, potato, and lettuce. Mustang had also laid out glasses of milk for them both, and that's what had set it all off. Edward flatly refused to drink it, and, after several minutes of heated debate over both Edward's size and the fact that the white crap secreted from a Goddamn cow was supposedly 'healthy' for you, Mustang had lost his temper and quickly jumped out of his chair, slamming his hands on the table and shouted "DRINK THE DAMN MILK!"

Edward had flinched violently, dropping his head so he was looking at his lap and whimpering slightly. His hands had begun to shake already, and he closed his eyes, bracing himself for the blow that was surely to come, just as it always did after these arguments, and he had waited for what seemed like an eternity before he heard Mustang's chair scraping the floor (violently flinching, again, at the noise), and Mustang had sighed. He sounded exhausted, and Edward tried his hardest to stop his hand from shaking, but it just refused to do so. Any moment now, any moment, and that blow would come. Mustang must be reverting back to one of his old strategies; waiting just long enough for Edward to relax and think he was safe before launching a wicked blow to his head that sent him flying halfway across the room. But Edward wouldn't fall for it this time. Not this time. He was ready, he wouldn't drop his guard, not this time. He stayed tense, never allowing his mind to trick itself into thinking it was safe, never allowing Mustang to trick him into thinking he was safe.

The blow was coming, any moment now, he just had to wait a little longer, just a little -

"I'm not going to hit you, Edward." Mustang said, breaking the crushing silence that had followed his outburst. He sounded sincere, but Edward refused to believe that he was safe. It wasn't possible, never, ever possible, to be safe around Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, the great Hero of Ishval, the - "Edward, I swear to God I won't hit you. I promised you earlier today that I wouldn't, didn't I?"

"Promises are made to be broken, General." Edward said through gritted teeth, still refusing to open his eyes, still refusing to relax his tense body. "But you already know that, don't you?"

"What are you talking about, Ed?" Mustang asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, you bastard. You know what promise I mean." Edward spat.

"I swear I don't -"

"You know what I mean!" Edward snarled, clenching his fists even tighter under the table.