implied Roy/Ed. spoilers for end of series. there was one good solution for a headache
Disclaimer- dont own the boys. just borrowing. no profit made
Slowly...slowly...with the same trepidation with which one handled a dog they expected to bite, a hand reached out, and with an awkward rhythm started to rub his temple. Roy turned, one eyebrow raised, effectively ruining the other's attempt at a headrub.
"Fullmetal. What are you doing?"
"I was trying to help, bastard. You had that damn line in your forehead again." Determined not to seem embarrassed, Ed reached out again and continued to press and rub Roy's left temple with his flesh hand.
A small smile twitched his lips upward, which turned into a snicker as the increased pressure of the impromptu massage signaled Ed had seen the expression.
"Stop what?" Roy's voice glowed with innocent inquiry.
"Smug bastard." Ed grumbled in irritation.
But the head rub didn't cease, and Roy returned his attention back to the papers before him, blissfully feeling his headache diminishing with every pass of Ed's calloused hand.
Roy pinched at the bridge of his nose, face twisted into a frustrated grimace of pain. The headaches were becoming habit, which was a definite impediment to the length of his work days. Not that he would mention them to the doctors. Hell, they would haul him back to that damn hospital, revoke his medical clearance.
No damn way that was happening.
Maybe...He pressed his temples, mimicking a technique he remembered working in the past. The pressure lessened the pain, but for only as long as he was willing to hold his hands there. That was not going to work. The pile of papers did not get any smaller, no matter how he glared at them from his one narrowed eye. They obviously weren't daunted.
Roy rubbed a hand over the eye patch, crankily massaging the healing wound there. That had to be the reason for all this nonsense. He had had headaches in the past...but nothing like this...
And, for a comfortable span of time, there had been a comforting hand willing to reach out, unasked, and work away the pain...
A new ache snagged his attention and he drooped, head sinking down into waiting hands.
It was too quiet. Everyone was too polite...too damn considerately respectful. No one yelled, engaged in entertaining bouts of verbal sparring...
He glared at the conspicuously empty couch, the same fierce look he would have merrily applied to the short, blond form he was so accustomed to seeing lounging there in casual irreverence. His head hurt, he was lonely, and damn it, the couch was empty.
What an appalling way to start the week...