Roy started to see Edward waiting for him in his darkened, makeshift office. “Fullmetal?”

Edward raised his head, and even the feeble light flashed on his eyes, making them glow like a wild animal’s. “Been waiting for you,” he said. He gestured with a bottle, one Roy knew he’d left locked in his desk drawer. Even without alchemy, Edward managed to open the door. Lockpicking was the least of his skills, obviously.

“Have you been drinking?” Roy pulled his gloves from his hands, tucking them back in his pocket.

“I’m not drunk.” Not an answer to the question, or not the real answer, but close enough. Edward sat up with a fluidity Roy envied. He set the bottle on top of the desk, following it with a glass that bore evidence of use. “And you should have your suppliers get you better booze. This is crap.”

“Do you really think I’d keep the good stuff where anyone could find it?” Roy settled in the chair across from Edward. “What’s this about, Fullmetal?” Using Edward’s title sometimes got his attention.

Edward said, “I’m out.”

“Out?”

“Out,” he repeated.

Something inside Roy froze at the lack of expression on Edward’s face, in his voice. “You’re what?”

“Out. Gone. Leaving.” Edward picked up the glass again, spinning it in his fingers. “I have a wife, and children, and they need me. And I need them. I didn’t think when I signed the contract to be an adviser, I’d be doing this so long.” He snagged the bottle and uncorked it, pouring himself a finger of whiskey. “I thought, a few years, what’s it gonna hurt? But those few years turned into six now, and I want to go home. My contract’s been up for renewal for months now. I let you talk me into staying on for just one more case, then another, and.” He shook his head. “I’m done, Roy.” He tossed back the booze, setting the glass on the desk top. “I just wanted to tell you to your face.”

What's that line from? I feel like I know it and it won't come to me...

He's telepathic, not psychic, of course, and so he doesn't know how it ends. Doesn't know there will come a day when he and Erik stop running, when they take the children they've found home--the only place where home could be, where Raven's buried underneath the enormous oak tree nearest the kitchen.

He can't imagine he'll be a headmaster, one day, that no police will ever come knocking at his door, that no one will ever piece together the string of suicides from New York to Oxford and a dozen cities in between--wife-beaters, child-abusers, men who didn't desert to live--that he and Erik will die of old age, with the legacy of hundreds of lives they taught and molded and loved like their own.

He only knows now; can only see the moment he walks into a hotel room looking for a man who murdered children in the War and finds Erik kneeling over the man's body.

That doesn't matter, though; he doesn't need foresight, because he knows--soon as he peeks inside of Erik's mind and says hello--Oh, he knows, what a wonderful team they're going to be, and what a hunt they're going to have.

OMG is this a new Musketeers series? BBC? How did I not know about this?!!

Re your prompt: ...and then Raoul was killed. Poor man. :(