Chapter Text
The basement Archer has Kimbley in right now is dark, and dank. He knows it’s not what Kimbley prefers—he’s made that perfectly clear, in multiple ways.
Really, the man should be grateful. He’s a State Alchemist again, and though Kimbley hasn’t exactly talked his ear off about the promotion, Archer knows this is what he wanted.
It’s just safekeeping, for the moment. To keep him from murdering a cadet. Again. Kimbley can whine all he wants, because Archer isn’t budging. And because Kimbley knows the situation isn’t permanent, probably. This is just until the mission is over—until Scar is either captured or dead, and they can return home to Central. Then, presumably there will be a greater opportunity for war. A landgrab, maybe, an opportunity for Archer to make a real name for himself in the history books.
Even as ambitious as he is, Archer knows this is something that will need to be taken one step at a time. Too much, too soon? It wouldn’t do at all. It’s best to take this cautiously. If he’s successful in capturing—or killing— Scar, he’ll be rewarded. As will the alchemist under his command.
Speaking of whom, Archer has a present for the man. A gift from Tucker; refined red stones, fashioned into a gem on a ring. It’ll be subtle enough to making an unassuming weapon. “I have a gift for you,” Archer says to Kimbley, smirking.
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yes, but first, I need to fix up your uniform. Your boots aren’t tied correctly.” Archer stoops down, much to Kimbley’s annoyance. He hears Kimbley mutter something about the boots being fine, how he hasn’t tripped, so it doesn’t matter. Archer gets halfway through fixing the knot in one of the boots before he gives up, offering up the small box from his pocket to keep Kimbley silent.
The alchemist whistles. “And it’s not even my birthday! You really are good to me.”
Archer rolls his eyes and ignores him.
Kimbley opens the box up, and peers down at Archer, Archer himself only glancing up for a moment, still trying to fix the knot on Kimbley’s boot. He’s probably pleased, Archer thinks. It’s been a long time since Kimbley last had a Philosopher’s Stone of his own, even if it is an incomplete one. He’s expecting a thank you, maybe a request to test it out. Preferably on one of the freaky things Tucker keeps in the cages.
He’s certainly not expecting Kimbley to be, well, Kimbley.
“Is this some kind of engagement ring?” Kimbley enunciates each syllable carefully, his tone somewhere between serious and amused. It’s an incredibly infuriating sound.
“What?” Archer stands immediately, his face flushed and shocked.
“You heard me. Is this some attempt at asking me to marry you, because your timing could use some work.”
“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back,” Archer says darkly, holding out his hand.
Kimbley laughs, pulling his hands away before Archer can make a grab for the little box, taking the ring out and examining it closely. “No way. Do you know how long it’s been since I last had one of these?” He gives Archer a sly look. “Though, you know. Back then, they gave it to me on a necklace.”
Archer’s face burns. “Yes, well,” he begins, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If it bothers you so much, I can have that corrected for you. After your mission.” Kimbley snickers in response, and slides the ring on, examining it carefully. On his left hand, Archer notices, wondering if Kimbley is still mocking him. It fits, and Archer can see it in his eyes that Kimbley is about to make yet another sarcastic comment. He doesn’t so much as open his mouth before Archer sighs exasperatedly. “Oh, don’t start, Kimbley.”
Kimbley stares for a moment before he starts laughing again.
Archer groans, rubbing at his temples. “You’ll be back before morning, won’t you?”
The alchemist nods. “Yeah, of course. It’s an easy job,” he says, abruptly stopping his laughter. How he can switch gears so easily? Like many things about Kimbley, it’s infuriating.
“I seem to recall you saying that about keeping a low profile.”
“How was I supposed to know that reptile was going to track me down?”
Archer lets out another groan. “Never mind. We’ll discuss this later.”
“Of course.” Kimbley flashes a disarming smile, uncharacteristically so. “I’m heading into the city now, right? It’s gotta be dark enough, by now.” It’s a prompting for more information—Archer knows Kimbley isn’t the best judge of time. Not without a watch. Which, Archer notices, glancing at Kimbley’s hip, he’s not wearing.
“Close enough,” Archer says, motioning for Kimbley to move closer so he can fix up the man’s uniform. He’ll never wear it properly, but the least Archer can do is make it look halfway decent, even if the man is going to insist on rolling his sleeves up. He fusses with Kimbley’s uniform for a good five minutes before stepping back. “Good. You look presentable now.”
“Are you going to kiss me goodbye, too?”
“Shut up, Kimbley.”
It occurs to him, suddenly, that perhaps doing this within earshot of someone else isn’t so wise. It would probably bother him more if it wasn’t Shou Tucker. As it is, the Sewing Life Alchemist can do very little harm to either of their reputations.
Kimbley smirks at Archer, stretching out his arms. “I’ll be leaving, then. You sure you’re not going to give me a kiss for good luck?”
He sighs. “Get going, Kimbley.”
The alchemist’s smile broadens, sauntering over to the cages, yanking a couple of the doors open to gather up the chimeras he’ll be taking with him. “I’ll be back before sunrise,” he says, and then he’s gone.