Chapter Text
Edward Elric had a problem. Well actually he had several problems, but only one of them was currently making his life unbearable. Fuck his life. Goddamn military and their goddamn obsession with ceremonies. Fucking Grumman.
Ed had been on medical leave while the trials and executions of the old guard were carried out, but rather than coming back, he had written to Mustang declaring that he quit and that the military could go fuck itself. Al had recovered, and gone to Xing; while Ed chickened out of proposing to Winry, and buggered off to Creta. He’d had a blissful 2.5 years of not so much as seeing a blue uniform before the homesickness kicked in and he found himself wandering aimlessly around Central.
If Ed had ever been born with any sense of self preservation, he would have avoided Central Command like the diseased-shithole-full-of-shitheads that it was, but nooOOOOOooooOOOo, he’d let his mental version of Al convince him to go talk to the old team. He was an idiot. In less than an hour he had been invited to 7 different get-togethers, and 2 weddings. It would have been a lie to say that he had any plans, or anything else to do, but he managed to only commit himself to attending Havoc’s engagement party, and Breda’s birthday. He absolutely refused to go to any weddings. He had left Mustang’s office with a smile, and a promise to Hawkeye that he would call again when the Lieutenant General was not in a meeting.
He had nearly made it out of the main building when he heard a voice calling his name.
“MAJOR ELRIC!”
Ed turned, ready to cuss out the person who clearly had not gotten the memo about Ed’s resignation, but when he saw the young woman calling his name he didn’t recognize her.
“Just Edward.” Ed said. Al would be so proud.
“Ah, Maj-- Mr. Elric, Sir.” She stopped and gave him a salute, which Ed promptly ignored.
“I’m Corporal Anna Roche, and Fuhrer Grumman would like to see you.”
Ed stared at her. “News travels fucking fast round here.”
Corporal Roche just stared at him, slightly starry eyed, but she seemed normal enough.
Ed sighed, “Any chance I can just give you my number and he can call me at my hotel?”
Corporal Roche’s eyes widened comically, “I--The Fuhrer wants to speak with you.”
Ed closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What would Al say to get out of this situation?
“Thank-you Corporal. Please tell Fuhrer Grumman to call me at the Jennison Hotel, as I have some business to take care of.” He nodded at her, and spun around walking swiftly towards the main street. Fucking Grumman might be the Fuhrer, but Ed wasn’t his subordinate and he had some very important business to attend to.
That business was obviously checking that the bakery two blocks south of Central Command still made the best cream cheese donuts in the city. Ed smiled as he bit into one and it melted in his mouth. Just this donut was worth the stay in Central. Speaking of which, how long could he afford to stay in Central? He pulled out the checkbook and stared at the numbers.
Al was living as a guest of Ling’s court, so he had no need of Ed’s money at the moment, but Al had always wanted to go to university, and he had mentioned in his last letter that he was considering wrapping up his studies in Xing within the next year. Ed had saved a significant amount of money from his days as Fullmetal, but he’d spent a lot of it in Creta. He had enough to live for another few years, but his automail needed adjustments, and the state did not provide free university education. It was still much cheaper than in Xing, but until Mustang enacted his great plan, Ed would have to help fund Al’s studies.
Well he couldn’t do alchemy, so that was not an option. He supposed he could still do alchemical research, but he would either have to work through the university or through the military. The university wouldn’t accept him unless he completed the exam that all students had to complete upon finishing school, and Ed had dropped out in elementary school. The military...Ed made a face. No. Well he could always become a prostitute. He’d run into enough assholes who wanted to grope his automail to know that there was quite the clientele base for scarred creatures like him. Ed grimaced at the thought. Urg, he’d never get his automail joints clean if he went into that business.
Central was quiet as he walked towards his hotel, the early afternoon sun was wasted on a city in the middle of the work week, but at least it meant he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew. The hotel wasn’t far away, and Ed had initially been relieved to enter its cool confines, but that only lasted until the phone rang.
Fuck.
“Hello? Is this Mr. Edward Elric?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
“Yep.”
“I am calling from Fuhrer Grumman’s office to extend an invitation to the banquet we are having on Friday to honour the newly promoted Generals of the Amestrian Military.”
Well shit.
“Uh, thanks but I’ll pass.” Ed said into the phone.
There was a pause, and a few muffled voices in the background.
“One second sir.”
Ed stared at the wall while the person on the other end of the line covered the receiver. There was some more muffled discussion before the voice returned.
“General Mustang says that there will be copious amounts of free food if you decide to come.”
“General Mustang?” Ed asked. “I thought the bastard was a Lieutenant General.”
There was a choked off gasp, and a series of coughs on the line, and Ed could easily imagine this poor sucker sitting in front of Grumman--and Mustang for some reason--trying to convince him to go to a boring party that would be full of idiots.
“General Mustang was promoted at this afternoon’s meeting. It will be officially announced tomorrow, and the banquet is to be held to recognize his promotion as well as the promotions of all those who are now ranked above Brigadier General.”
“Well then, tell the Bastard I congratulate him, and that he can fuck off.”
The person on the line seemed at a loss for words and was probably looking at Mustang and gaping like a fish. “I-” There was some muttering in the background before some static crackled and Ed heard the voice he had been trying to forget.
“I’ll pick you up at 6pm on Friday. I look forward to seeing you, Fullmetal.”