It was a loop. A painful one. He needed something to live for. He needed a goal in life. He needed to be useful. It had occurred to him several times that he could strive to rid himself of this need, therefore giving him a goal, but if having a goal was his goal, then his goal was satisfied and he was back at the beginning, needing a goal.
He sighed and draped an arm over his eyes. It was warm and applied pressure to his eyes that helped hold back the tears. Al and Winry were practically married already, though they probably didn't even recognize their feelings yet. Ed was the third wheel in terms of childhood companions. He really did feel useless.
Not even the military needed him. After he lost his alchemy, he spent his days in the library, being paid to read about things that used to interest him. Now, reading about what he could no longer do was painful. In reality, he was being paid to pretend he was reading about a past time of his.
Everyone was moving on without him. There was Al and Winry. Mustang wasn't Fuhrer, but had the whole country under his thumb. While he'd said he wanted to be Fuhrer, his goal was to lead a country where everyone looked out for each other. It was the least humans could do. Still, Mustang had reached his goal. He was controlling the country, albeit discreetly. He had the current Fuhrer under his thumb, and was friends with everyone in the building. The man was busy controlling the country.
He dug his forearm further into his eyes, the mild displeasure of pressure turning into a dull throb of almost pain. Even Hawkeye moved on without him. She was married and pregnant, perfectly content. Havoc, the father of the baby and married to the trigger happy woman, was ecstatic to have a kid. At times he reminded Ed of Hughes.
Maes Hughes. The name sent shivers up his spine. How often did he think about the dead man? Every day? Twice a day? Six times a day? Once an hour? Three times every fifteen minutes was more like it.
To be dead like him… It wasn't that he wanted to die, but the thought of not existing anymore was bliss. Nothing was perfect. Apathy was the best emotion. Unconscious was the best state of mind. Nothing was physically stopping him from committing suicide. After all, he was just a small part of a big world. Even if he did die, the world would move on without him. It was one of the lessons he'd learned under Izumi Curtis.
Another name. Another shiver. These names and people from his past. They would never leave him be. What was he anymore? He was a useless bag of flesh. What was stopping him from just ending it? There was always the possibility of marring his friends' lives. They already knew enough misery. At the same token, what was one more miserable event? The world would move on anyway. It wasn't like he was immortal anyway; he had to die some time.
What kept him from pulling out his pocket knife and cutting his wrists? Well, first off, it was too cliché and predictable. If he really wanted to be unique, he'd jam the knife through his jugular instead. He smiled wryly at the thought. Yes, that's how he would kill himself if he used a blade.
Why not? Why didn't he just end it there? Because I'm a coward, was the first answer that ran through his mind. Then excuses followed. I don't want to die. I'll need to be there on Al's wedding day. I want to see Havoc's and Hawkeye's kid. If the higher powers haven't already smote me, I might have a destiny ahead of me that I just don't know about…In all truth, he felt he had to suffer through others' happiness. He knew it wasn't fair to reach his goals and then die after so much sin and pain he caused. Death was the easy way out. In truth, he didn't kill himself because he wasn't a coward. But he refused to admit these things to himself, for that meant he was one of those hypocritical martyring bastards that he patronized so much.
The pressure on his eyes released as his arm lifted and rested neatly on his naked, flat, toned belly. He kept his eyes closed, though. He was useless, and had to live through his pain. Despite everything, he was looking for a way out that didn't include death. Drugs, alcohol, and pain came to mind. He was particularly fond of the last one. While purposely hurting himself didn't make much sense in the situation, wouldn't it just accent the pain he thought he needed to endure?
He shook his head and flipped onto his stomach. He wanted a purpose, but how could he possibly find one? A long, heavy sigh pushed past his lips. It was futile to keep thinking like this. Every decision before him was just stupid and he knew it.
Drugs – stupid. Alcohol – stupid. Hurting himself – definitely stupid. Killing himself – unacceptable, although it didn't mean he couldn't toy with the idea. Go on with his boring life until he died from circumstances out of his hands – the most painful and the hardest to do, although probably the right choice. That was what his logic said.
His emotions told him to do all of them, but at the same time his conscience told him what his logic said. All the same, Ed couldn't kill himself, but he could do all the rest of them. Intoxication really had no appeal to him. At the moment he felt like making a decision, but he didn't have hallucinogens, narcotics, inhalants, stimulants, depressants, cannabis, or alcohol available.
That left hurting himself. Slowly, he pushed his naked body off the bed and crossed the dorm in search of something. He couldn't find it anywhere, and rushed into the bathroom. Upon entering though, he passed the mirror. He froze upon the sight of his naked form. His usually tidy braided hair was tousled and falling out of the braid. His eyes were bruised from lack of sleep and the wide-eyed way he stared at himself made him seem crazed, like a lunatic. His skin was a beautiful bronze, and even Ed couldn't deny his skin and muscles were appealing.
He shook himself out of his daze and continued looking for the object. With a satisfied grunt, he pulled out the razor. His knife was lost – he didn't know where he had put it. Now another question burned in his mind. Where to cut? Cutting his wrists was too cliché to bear. His ankles and feet would hurt too much. His back was too hard to reach. Then he looked down at the blade in distaste. Perhaps any kind of cut wasn't the way to go.
What were his other options, though? Kicking himself in the face? He sighed and dropped the unwelcome blade in the sink. It wasn't worth the effort anymore. Then a thought struck and hurting himself seemed so easy.
After all, how hard could it be to anger people into violence?
"What were you thinking, Fullmetal?" Mustang asked in disapproval as a sore and beaten Ed plopped into the car. The car was in front of a local bar, and Ed tried his best not to grin from ear to ear. Instead, he focused on the pain so he could grimace. Ed's plan had gone almost perfectly. Find a drunken man in a bar. Pick a fight. Lose purposely, but make sure to keep taunting so he'd keep fighting. The only setback was when Colonel Mustang was informed of the situation and took it upon himself and Havoc to intervene.
Havoc was driving now, and Ed was sitting next to the Colonel in the back, staring out the window. "I don't know," the blond muttered in response to Mustang's inquiry. His arms were crossed and he could feel several bruises on his back, stomach, and one on his cheek. His left eye was swollen and black. Outside of getting dressed, he hadn't changed his appearance since his resolve to hurt himself. His hair was a mess, even worse than before, and his lack of sleep still apparent.
"How did you not know what you were doing?" Mustang insisted irritably, his voice as sharp as ever. He didn't understand why his blond subordinate so obviously picked a fight with a seemingly random stranger. A drunk one, no less!
Ed glared at his superior's nose. "I knew what I was doing, Colonel Bastard. I just… wasn't thinking." He grimaced at the lie. He knew exactly what he was thinking about, but explaining himself to Mustang was out of the question for a few reasons. One was his pride. Two was the annoyances that came with telling people such things. He had more reasons, but was too lazy to list them all in his head. Honestly, he hadn't even been thinking about getting hurt. He just became so intent on picking a fight, that he'd forgotten all about the pain. Once the pain from the first blow exploded in his stomach, he remembered why he was doing it, and focused on the pain. Thus began his new addiction.
"It was clear you weren't thinking," Mustang snapped, "I just don't get why you did it!" The whole situation was bugging him. The Colonel knew he was missing something, and he was trying to figure it out.
"Did it?" Ed quoted in a near scream, indignant at the Colonel's words. "Did it?" he repeated, "If you recall, he punched me first!" The way Mustang spoke was as if Ed had started the fight. While he certainly provoked it, he didn't feel it was entirely his fault, seeing as he hadn't raised a fist once during the 'fight.'
"And apparently he was the only one who did any kind of fighting at all!" Mustang retorted, "Why didn't you defend yourself? You're completely capable-."
"Capable my ass," Ed muttered, his outburst subdued. There was a long silence, where Mustang wished he could get answers, but at the same time knew it was pointless to try. Ed, on the other hand, was grateful the man had stopped probing. He really hadn't thought this far ahead, and didn't know how he was going to get past the sticky questions.
He stifled a yawn, but it didn't go unnoticed by the Colonel. "You alright, Fullmetal?" he asked lowly, speaking without hysteria for the first time since he'd gathered the beaten ex-alchemist.
Ed huffed and resisted the urge to giggle and say, "Better than alright." Instead, he kept his eyes glued to the window so that Mustang couldn't sense the glee that made them glitter. "I'm fine," he grumbled. It was totally worth getting caught. He just needed to come up with excuses, or a way for people to not find out. Or a new way to hurt himself, but he was fresh out of ideas on that one.
The car passed the dorms, and Ed swiveled his head to Havoc and then Mustang and then back again. "What are you doing?" he asked irritably, "My dorm was right there!" He flailed while he said this, and was pleased at the aching it caused.
"Calm down, Fullmetal," Mustang chided, "We're going to my office. You called in sick today, if I recall correctly, and then I hear you're-."
"Yeah, how did you know about it?" Ed interrupted, his brow creasing. He thought of how he should be acting. First off, he had to begrudge Mustang for 'saving' him, which he did. Then he had to be angry that he 'lost' the 'fight' (although in his mind he won, since he got what he was looking for). So, in short, he should just be angry. "I could have handled it!" Ed insisted.
Mustang snapped sarcastically, "Because it was obvious you were in control of the situation." There was a long, hard silence where Ed debated what to say. After a minute or so, though, he decided he'd spent too much time thinking and it was too late to reply. He stared grumpily out the window until they stopped. Even then, as he got out of the car, he refused to meet Mustang's gaze. "I'll meet you in my office." The car door slammed and Ed took the stairs two at a time, making sure he was far ahead of the blind Alchemist.
Part of the reason Ed didn't look at Mustang was because his eyes were unnerving, although Ed would never admit it. Even after he got past the stairs, he didn't slow his pace. The back of his eyes were tingling. Something about the situation made him feel like crying, but he couldn't let loose in the middle of the building. He hurried to get to a bathroom, and locked himself in a stall.
He sat down on the ground and rested his head against the toilet seat. It didn't matter how unsanitary it was. Nothing really mattered at all. He closed his eyes and pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. His breath was uneven and quick from running, making it impossible to take deep, calming breaths. His heart raced. His eyes still stung with the threat of tears. He felt a lump form in his throat.
Hysterical was the only way to describe the way he cried after the first tear slipped down his cheek. His body ached with the sobs that wracked his body, and he relished in the ache that so resembled where his heart was supposed to be. His lip trembled and the sounds that emitted from him were pathetic and miserable.
He didn't know what possessed him to cry like that. Perhaps it had something to do with the level he had stooped to: feeling satisfaction from getting hurt. Maybe it was frustration at getting caught. There was always the possibility it was from the pain, although he'd been worse.
The reason he was crying, however, was not for any of these specific reasons. They all played their parts, but it was mostly for the same reason he wanted to hurt himself. Despite the fact he succeeded at what he'd intended to do, he was still useless. Helpless, even, without alchemy. He had no purpose still.
Maybe I should just kill myself, he mused sadly as his sobs subsided. That's when someone knocked on his stall.
"Hey, are you okay?"
Ed recognized Fuery's voice and resisted the urge to snap at him. Instead, he wiped the tears from his eyes and collected himself. Taking several deep breaths, he stood and opened the stall door. Fuery, to say the least, was surprised to find Fullmetal behind the door. What made him cry like that…? Ed gave him a weak smile and squirmed past him to splash his face in the sink.
Fuery followed him hesitantly. "Are you alright, Ful- Ed- sir?"
Ed cleaned his face off with the cheap paper towels and sighed heavily. "I'm fine, Fuery." His voice was thick and his nose was stuffy. He hated sounding like that, but what could he do? Still ignoring the sanitary rules Alphonse had branded in his brain, he bent over and drank straight out of the bathroom faucet in hopes to clear his throat.
"Sir?" Fuery asked again, looking uncertain. Ed pulled away from the sink and turned off the running water. "The Colonel told me to fetch you, but… sh-should I tell him you're sick?"
Ed sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "No." Fuery flinched at his tone. It wasn't angry or distressed. It was void of emotion. Then Ed sighed again, and whispered, then sounding resigned, "I have to talk to him sometime. Better to just get it over with. Tell him I'll be a few minutes."
Fuery shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Maybe I should just-."
"Whatever," Ed snapped irritably, "I don't care." They stood there for a few awkward minutes until the ex-alchemist pushed himself away from the sink and headed toward the door. Fuery, who had actually been under the instruction to escort him, followed the blond to the Colonel's office.
The door opened with a loud bang, and Mustang opened his eyes. He was leaning back, his feet on the desk. Despite his blank eyes, he couldn't rid himself of reflexes like looking up when someone entered the room. He listened to Ed slam his hands down on the desk, no doubt angry about something.
"What is it?" Ed snapped, "I have a sick day to enjoy."
Mustang let his feet fall to the floor and pulled his seat closer to the desk. "That's exactly what we need to talk about." His eyes flickered up, but missed their intended target: Ed's face. "Didn't we agree to meet here?"
Ed huffed, leaned back on his heels, and crossed his arms moodily. "And?" he sneered, "I didn't feel like looking at your…" his voice faltered, but he continued, "smug face." Mustang ignored the comment and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. Unless someone moved the furniture around, he'd memorized where everything was in the office.
Ed grumbled under his breath and plopped down on the couch. Mustang wasn't sure where to place his eyes in the darkness, so he decided to look down at where he imagined his hands were, hopefully appearing to be looking down at his desk.
"Fuery, leave and close the door," he ordered, although the man had already done so. This made Ed squirm, realizing Mustang was just oblivious. It seemed innocent at times, but then sometimes Ed couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. This was Roy Mustang. His Colonel. The Flame Alchemist. The unmovable rock in Ed's mind. The man couldn't see.
"He already left," Ed couldn't help but mutter. The surprise on Mustang's face was short lived. He'd grown used to people telling him such things, and it never lasted more than a moment. He found it made everyone awkward, merely through Hawkeye's commentary, to dwell on those moments where his handicap was apparent.
Mustang sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Fullmetal, you called out sick today. I assumed you were ill, which is the only reason you should ever call out sick. Why?"
"Why what?" Ed snapped. He wanted to get out as soon as possible, but he didn't want to give himself away or answer something unnecessary. It was just annoying to sit through these questions, and he didn't like spending time with the man sitting across from him.
Mustang raised an eyebrow as if it were obvious. "Why did you call out sick?"
Ed rolled his eyes; that was the least important thing he had on his mind. So he answered partially honestly, "I wasn't feeling well." In reality, he hadn't felt well, but he wasn't physically ill. It had been completely mental, but he believed it warranted a sick day. After all, he felt like shit.
"I see," Mustang replied slowly, "Is that also why you went out and picked a fight with a drunk civilian?" If the Colonel wasn't blind, he would have seen Ed pale at the truth of the implications. That was the reason he picked a fight. He wasn't feeling well.
Instead of stammering and showing his dread verbally like he felt like, he explained in a firm tone, "It wasn't my fault. I was taking a walk, hoping it would make me feel better, and wandered in without thinking. The next thing I knew, I was being pounded into a pulp."
"And started laughing," Mustang added, and asked, "Why would you do that?"
Ed shrugged, contrasting his expression which said he was getting nervous. It wasn't like Mustang could see anyway. He answered, sounding more confident than he was feeling, "You know me."
This made Mustang grimace. He did know Ed. If it really happened the way Ed described, then it made sense for him to laugh. It was a defiant gesture, most likely, but he wasn't there to witness the event, so he wasn't sure if that really explained Ed's behavior.
Mustang sighed and rubbed his forehead. "You're dismissed, Fullmetal."
Ed stood and paused. "Before I go, Colonel," he began confidently, but his voice dropped in volume as he continued, "Stop calling me Fullmetal. I'm not an alchemist." The silence was heavy as Ed crossed the room and left. He made sure to slam the door particularly hard so Mustang knew he was gone. The Colonel sighed heavily and leaned his head back against his chair. What was he going to do with that kid?
As soon as Ed had closed the door, he had ran down to the library. After shaking Sheska and asking her fervent questions that didn't make much sense to her, she showed him around the library, gave him the gist on some books she'd read, and handed him something most people weren't allowed to look at.
The blond seemed set on what he was doing, and demanded she stay with him until he was done with his research. Naturally, afraid of his superior strength and rank, she obeyed and sat and read as he did his research. Occasionally, he'd ask her about some small detail that didn't seem to have much consequence. When she answered, he'd grimace and turn back to his studies.
That was how the next week continued, and the week after that, and so on and so forth. Ed was studying other cultures, what little they had on the Gate (when Sheska was asked about it, she immediately became worried), and many other things.
One day, Sheska walked in early, yawning, to find Ed still up. This wasn't uncommon, except he wasn't scribbling down hasty urgent notes. He was reading, and seemed rather calm, as oppose to his usual appearance. Sheska noted with delight that Ed looked like he had began taking care of himself again. He was clean, his hair in a neat braid again, in clean clothes, and he was eating an apple as he read.
She also noted the weights on the ground beside him. It wasn't uncommon for him to work out as he researched, writing with one hand and lifting weights with the other. He was also known for taking a break just to run around and spar with whoever was willing.
Aside from these outbursts, he rarely ate and never bathed. It was relieving to see he was so calm. Maybe he's back to normal, she thought hopefully. Then she considered the past month or two. Wasn't that what Ed was like when he was younger? Research and leads on the Philosopher's Stone?
The only thing that was different between the past two months and when Ed was desperate to get Al's body back, was that Ed didn't have Al to take care of him or push him to take care of himself. Another difference was Ed's fervor. It was as if he was desperate to do this.
Even within two months to dig around, Sheska had no idea what Ed was researching. Not until that day she found him reading and clean and eating. Upon getting closer, she realized he also looked well-rested.
Smiling, she sat neatly beside him and read over his shoulder. "Eyes?" she asked curiously, "I didn't know you were interested in anatomy, Ed. I know a ton about eyes, they're kind of cool." Ed didn't reply right away, but grunted. When he finished the book, he put it down and looked over at Sheska, who had read along with him. The book didn't take very long to read, and it was still sunrise outside.
The blond smiled at her. It was soft and gentle. "Thanks, Sheska. You've helped me a lot this past month."
"Two months," she corrected meekly. It was the first time he'd said anything that wasn't demanding, angry, or curious. It was personal, and meant for her. She blushed and clasped her hands together. "You're welcome, Ed."
Ed tilted his head, amusement in his eyes. "When did you start calling me by my first name?"
She flushed harder and her eyes flickered to him before looking back down. "I don't know. I didn't even notice…" There was a comforting silence after she finished. Ed leaned back and exhaled happily.
"My research is over," he announced, "You can get back to work. I'll be sure to pay you for all the money you've lost not doing your job."
Sheska pushed her glasses back up her nose, and informed him, "No, I was paid for this. I mean, part of my job is to help alchemis-," she stopped, looked away and murmured, "officers with their research."
Ed chuckled at her mistake. "It's quite alright, Sheska. I'm still going to pay you." He stood and stretched, looking very feline. "I'll see you later, okay?" With that, Ed was gone.
"What do you mean he's not here?" Havoc asked confusedly. He exchanged a glance with Fuery, concern apparent on both of their faces. They were standing outside the library, Sheska in front of them.
Fuery added, "He's been here for the past two months – where could he be if he's not here?"
Sheska shrugged, although her face expressed a nervous sort of concern. "Ed was here this morning, and he looked great – a lot better than he'd been. He was reading and then he said he'd pay me when he finished the book, and then he left."
"We should report this to Colonel Mustang. Come with us, Sheska," Havoc suggested.
"What was he reading?" Mustang asked, completely serious. When he heard Ed was back at work, and working very hard, he was relieved. He was beginning to think that something was wrong. The fact Ed was working again told him that the blond was actually fine. Now he was proven wrong. The ex-alchemist was missing, and no one knew where he was.
Sheska blinked a few times, before answering timidly and stuttering, "S-s-something about – about eyes a-and how they… how they work." Havoc and Fuery exchanged a glance while Mustang's expression flickered, but returned too quickly to serious.
"What was it he's been studying, Sheska? Hurry, we may be out of time," he urged her, leaning forward.
She looked at the three men and gulped. "Uh, he's been studying a lot of things – Xingese culture, transmutation circles…" she trailed off, leaving everyone to think. She didn't understand why, but she felt it was important to tell them. It had worried her, but she didn't know much about it, and the study had been brief for lack of information on it. Upon looking at the others, she realized how worried they were and how lost they seemed. They were in the dark… "I – I don't know if this is of any – any consequence, but we – we spent a few days – I didn't want to – but we spent some time on… on the Gate." All three heads snapped her way and she felt heat rising to her cheeks. "We couldn't find much, but Ed seemed… seemed satisfied."
"What was he reading this morning?" Mustang asked again, standing up.
Sheska blinked up at the tall man. She figured he'd leave the awkward subject alone. After all, they were talking to a blind man. "Uh, eyes. How they work and… yeah." After she said that, her eyes widened as realization struck. She looked back and forth between each man, who each looked shocked, or in Mustang's case, furious. "Oh," she whispered, her voice meek.
"Damn it," Mustang swore, "Havoc, get Hawkeye. I don't care if she's in labor, she'll want to be part of this and have my head if I don't involve her. Fuery, grab Breda and everyone you can find who is willing to help look for him. He's going to try human transmutation, and I'm not going to let that happen."
Havoc's brow creased before he pointed out, "Ed can't use alchemy."
The reassurance relaxed the Colonel a little, but he seemed determined. "It doesn't matter. He needs to be stopped, whether or not he has the ability to succeed." He strode purposefully to the coat rack and pulled on his uniform jacket while Havoc and Fuery left.
"Sir?" Sheska asked timidly. "Where are you going?"
"To look for Fullmetal," he answered swiftly, pulling on his gloves. He remembered a vague time where Ed had called him a cheater for using the gloves. It wasn't like he was going to use them, but he liked to have them on just in case. It was more about comfort and security than anything else.
Sheska hesitated before pointing out, "You can't see, sir. Are you sure you should go?" She hated implying he'd only impair everyone, and that he wouldn't be able to help, but the man didn't seem fazed.
"Fullmetal is doing this for me," Mustang explained quickly, buttoning his jacket blindly. "He won't stop unless I tell him I don't want him to do this. Besides," he added before he left the room, "He's my subordinate." With that, the Flame Alchemist was gone and Sheska felt stupid for not realizing earlier what the older Elric was doing.
Al left Resembool to help search for his older brother. Even with his help, however, the blond did not appear. It caused everyone to lose sleep at night. Wanted posters were plastered on every wall in Central.
First, Ed's dorm was searched. The only sign of the blond's presence was the blood in the sink with the razor. The whole of Central was torn apart looking for the ex-alchemist. It seemed they would never find him.
It was the third day, when everyone was just starting to lose hope. The Colonel was sitting at his desk, his face in his hands. The phone rang and, in hopes of some news on Ed, he half-heartedly reached for it and put it to his ear.
"Colonel Mustang," he grumbled, knowing it was a false hope.
"Sir," a woman's voice said on the other line, "there's a call for you. They called from outside and used Major Elric's code." Mustang's head snapped up and knew Hawkeye was watching him with curiosity.
Mustang licked his lips. "Let him talk to me." Then he whispered to Hawkeye, cupping the mouth piece of the phone, "Fullmetal's code. He's outside the building somewhere." He listened to Hawkeye move about the room, probably getting ready to trace the phone.
"Hello?" a voice asked on the outside.
Mustang uncovered the mouth and replied, "Who is this?" There was heavy panting on the other end, and he was worried for a moment that Ed wasn't going to reply.
"Who do you think it is? I'm the mother fucker in the basement who's trying to get your eyesight back!" With that, the glow of a transmutation circle showed up under Mustang's desk and chair. He couldn't see it though; he was only aware of a loud hum and Hawkeye's cry of: "Sir!"
Ed blinked at the Gate in front of him. The doors were closed and the designs on the frame made him shiver. He took a step forward and found he was clean and naked. Ignoring this fact, he continued to approach the Gate.
A white being appeared in front of him, without eyes and with a large smile on its face. Ed watched it calmly, completely aware of why he was here and what he wanted to say.
"Aren't you done with us? With this place, hmm?" it asked, its voice distorted and oddly curious.
Ed stepped forward again and said confidently, "I've sinned already, but that's not why I'm here."
"Yes, yes, we know – the man's eyes," it said, hunched over. It tilted its head, and Ed could have sworn that if it had eyes, it would have narrowed them. "You know the rule of Equivalent Exchange. What can we take from you?"
Ed swallowed, but held his ground. "Anything. My limbs, my life, my own eyesight – anything." He frowned, though. "Why are you asking? Don't you usually just take?"
It laughed lowly before answering, "We ask because there is nothing to take." Then its smile grew and it laughed again. "Perhaps there is something. Are you sure you'll pay the price for his eyes?"
Ed stepped forward again and whispered, "Yes. Please." He hated the idea of having wasted all that time, and hoped desperately they would take his life or his soul or his body. The laughter that followed made him shiver.
Mustang stood and stared at the Gate. It seemed like eternity and seconds that he stood there. This was the first thing Mustang had seen in a long, long time and he was reveling in the ability. Yet he despised the sight before him. He was torn before turning away and continuing to stare.
The doors cracked open and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The sight was awe-inspiring, but he couldn't help but be skeptical.
"The price has been paid," a voice echoed through the emptiness, and it filled Mustang with dread.
"What price?" he demanded to know, afraid something awful had happened, "What happened to Fullmetal?" Laughter rolled around in the emptiness, and he felt his fear settling in. What did they do to Ed?
A loud smacking sound echoed through the room. Then another. And a third. Ed didn't bother pushing his head back to its natural position and stared blankly ahead of him. Sun streamed through the window of Mustang's office. Al continued slapping Ed, even after his own hand became sore. Ed's cheeks were pink by the time Hawkeye restrained Al.
Mustang was sitting at his desk, his eyes closed as he listened to the silence. He relished in the orange light that filtered through his eyelids. He loved the fact he could see, but didn't know how he should feel about the methods used to get this wonderful sensation back.
"Human transmutation, Ed?" Al screamed, "I can't believe you! After all we went through, you tossed all our lessons out the window! I thought we were done with this! Who knows what damned consequences there are for this! This is – I can't believe you!"
Needless to say, Al was angry and felt betrayed. Everyone had to wonder, though, at how neither Ed nor Mustang seemed harmed in any way at all. It seemed Mustang got his eyesight back without a price. Ed refused to tell anyone what it was that he had to pay, and paled every time he thought about it.
Now it was Hawkeye's turn to display her disapproval. She cocked her gun and put it to Ed's head. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't shoot you right now," she demanded lowly, utterly serious. Ed didn't seem to particularly care.
"The Colonel can see," he whispered, raising his head, but then looking down at his feet. He had had a goal for the first time since forever. He accomplished that goal and felt satisfied. If he felt bad for anything, he dreaded the consequence the Gate forced upon him, and guilt coursed through him because of everyone else's anguish. Yes, he'd been selfish. Yes, he did something horrible. But it was worth it.
Hawkeye dropped her hand and sighed. No one else felt the need to berate the tired-looking ex-alchemist. Everyone's heads snapped up when Mustang spoke.
"Leave us," he demanded. He was sitting up, eyeing Ed with golden eyes. Ed met his gaze with black ones. Hesitantly, everyone else left the room, and their staring contest continued. How would Mustang react? Ed didn't waver; he knew the consequences of his actions.
Mustang leaned back and gestured to the chair. "Sit, Fullmetal." Ed didn't bother correcting him and sat down where he was told. His expression was impenetrable. There was a short moment where neither of them said anything. Then the Colonel broke the silence, "Thank you. Honestly. I can't… can't explain how good it feels to see again." There was another pause where Mustang considered how to word his next question. "Why did you do it?"
Ed suddenly found his clasped hands intriguing. It was the first time anyone asked, and he wasn't prepared to answer. "I…" he trailed off, but closed his mouth again. He was all too aware of the smoldering gaze on the top of his head, waiting for him to answer. He sighed and lifted his softened eyes to the Colonel. "For the same reason I picked a fight with a drunk two months ago. I wasn't feeling well."
Mustang narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you."
Ed shrugged and found his own eyes resting on Mustang's features. "That's your decision, sir. Is that all?"
"No," he answered quickly, but calmly, "I want to know everything. It'll be absolutely confidential. I want to know all about the research. I want to know how you used the alchemy you no longer had. I want to know why you did it, and I want to know what price you paid."
Ed sighed and crossed his arms. "You'll get most of that in my report, sir."
"Tell me now what I won't get in the report." The demand was simple enough, but Ed couldn't make himself tell his superior. They spent a solid five minutes in silence, Mustang waiting for Ed to explain himself, and Ed trying to think of a way out of this. Alas, he couldn't think of anything and a heavy sigh pushed past his lips.
"Why don't I just put all of it in my report?" Ed suggested. Maybe if the eyes that used to belong to him weren't staring at him, he could explain himself, if only on paper. However, the relentless look Mustang gave him told him he wasn't getting off the hook like that. Ed ran a hand through his hair. "I already answered the one question I won't put in my report," he said quietly. When Mustang's eyes questioned him, he glared at his hands. "I told you; I wasn't feeling well."
Mustang shook his head and looked down at the papers on his desk. "Fine. As long as you explain everything in your report – and that includes what you mean by 'you weren't feeling well' – I'll let you off the hook. If I have any questions after I read the report, you know you'll end up in here, answering them anyway."
Ed sighed and stood. He saluted the man, something he hadn't found necessary in a long time since he was blind, and said firmly, "Yes, sir!"
"You're not dismissed, Fullmetal," Mustang snapped, "Sit down." Ed blinked a few times in confusion and sat down. What else was there to talk about? He watched his superior intently, still unused to the way Mustang's eyes felt in his skull. "I thanked you earlier," Mustang began, "but now I must express my disapproval of your actions. It is my responsibility, after this unforgivable act, to release you from your duties. You might even go to jail for this." Ed looked down at his hands again. Maybe he deserved to be imprisoned. "My gratitude, however, prevents me from doing so. As you're well aware, I have connections. I can keep you from losing your job, but at a cost. It's obvious you haven't learned from your past, and this experience does nothing to help you realize what you did was wrong-."
"Sir!" Ed exclaimed, standing up, "I understand you're upset! I understand you might even want to gouge my eyes out of your head, and I wouldn't blame you for wanting to do so, but look at me!" And Mustang did. Ed's hair was a mess, his cheeks bruised and red, and he had dark circles under his eyes. "I'm not asking for pity, and I'd never ask you to risk your reputation for me. If you must let me go, then do it. Get it over with, please. There is nothing in the world that could possibly make my life more miserable."
Mustang narrowed his eyes at the younger man and leaned forward. "Dismissed. But I expect an explanation for everything, down to the last detail."
Ed stood and saluted him again. "Good afternoon, Colonel." With the flash of a red coat, Ed was gone, leaving Mustang to bask in the absolutely fantastic sensation of sight.
Mustang was astonished when he woke up every morning to see sunlight or moonlight or candlelight in his room. He was so used to the nothingness… It made him giddy and triumphant. The same sort of pleased amazement filled him when he read the first report – the one Sheska gave him on her studies with Ed.
It was rather dull, but he relished in the ability, and read it word for word. Sheska's report went in chronological order, and Mustang finally realized why she hadn't noticed what Ed was planning to do. He'd start researching one thing, and then distract her by researching another, and the order in which Ed studied didn't make much sense at all.
When Ed knocked on the door, Mustang was finishing the report for the second time, having been too excited that he could read to actually stop. The knock startled him, but he refused to show it, instead looking up at what used to be his own dark eyes.
Ed didn't wait for him to say anything, but once they made eye contact, he stepped into the room and approached the desk. There was a soft thump, but neither of them looked down to the stack of papers Ed had plopped onto the desk. It wasn't necessarily a stare-down, but Ed felt as if he was submitting by looking away first. That didn't stop him from doing it though.
The dark eyes looked down before the golden ones did. "Everything is in there," Ed whispered, "From the day I got into the bar fight to the day I woke with your eyes in my sockets." There was a long silence and Mustang leaned back.
"I'll be sure to read it," he answered, his gaze unwavering on Ed's face. "You're dismissed." Ed was reluctant to do it, but he turned and left. Mustang looked down at the report and picked it up almost fearfully. Ed's handwriting was unique. It wasn't chicken scratch, but it certainly wasn't perfect or even neat. Then he began reading.
I don't remember much that happened that day. I remember calling in sick to work for the second time in a row, lying in bed wishing I had a purpose in life. Al and Winry were moving on with their life together, although I don't think they were an item at the time. I recall thinking about how everyone had achieved their goals, and even Hawkeye had moved on. She was pregnant and that was never going to be old news.
Some people could say I was depressed. They were right, to an extent. I felt useless; I couldn't even use alchemy. I guess even that's completely gone now. I'll get into that later.
I know it sounds stupid, but I wanted to make a choice. My life was boring and useless. It still sort of is. Something in my sleep-deprived brain gave me the idea of bad choices I could make. Drugs and killing myself, but the one that really stuck out was hurting myself on purpose. I really didn't know how I was going to do it. I remember thinking of all the clichés, and tossed them out immediately.
That's why I went to the bar. I went to pick a fight. I didn't struggle because I wanted to be in pain. I guess it was a stupid move. I have to wonder what kind of masochist that makes me.
When I was in the car with Mustang and Havoc… well, it was awkward. I don't remember what we specifically said, but trying to act like I wasn't enjoying the pain was difficult. When we got to that glorious white building, I ran inside, and cried in a stall. I don't know why I did; I'm just pathetic, I think. Fuery found me in there, and after I washed my face and waited to calm down, we went to Mustang's office.
I don't remember our conversation, but I recall thinking about Mustang's blank eyes the entire time. As I left his office, I was reminded of how useless I was. Then I figured since I didn't care about whether or not I lived, I could work as hard as I could on whatever I wanted. Why couldn't it be for someone else? It occurred to me how unfair it was, Mustang's… handicap.
With that, I was resolved. I didn't know why I was doing it at the time, but I was doing it because I needed a goal to work for to stay sane. This just happened to be the only one that crossed my mind.
The research itself was boring, but I worked at it with fervor. I studied to know what transmutation circle I should use mostly, but when we studied the Gate, it was the only time I thought about what I would have to give up for the Colonel to get his sight back. I guess pain wasn't enough, because the results certainly weren't pleasant to receive.
I wasn't aware of time passing. I don't know when I had the break through. I was reading something on the Xingese, their version of Alchemy. After we studied them for a while, it was easy to figure out how to do it.
Before I disappeared, I decided I should at least know about how eyes work before I tried to give Mustang a pair. I spoke a little to Sheska – I think I have yet to pay her – and left. I went to my dorm as quickly as possible, cut my hand on accident, and gathered the ingredients for human transmutation.
I spent the next few days in Central. Actually I spent the entire time in the basement. This is a once in a life-time chance, so wipe that smug smirk off your face Mustang. I admit; being short has its advantages. Hiding was easy in the basement. At night, I drew the circle under the carpet of Mustang's chair.
I didn't know that the basement phone was considered "outside" of the premises, but apparently it is. I called the Colonel and clapped my hands to the circle. That was that.
Mustang skimmed the next part that went on a rant about the Xingese version of Alchemy. In short, it said that they can do transmutations across distances and wasn't technically 'Alchemy.'
For once, I was glad Hohenheim was my father. After all, how could the offspring of a Philosopher's Stone be unable to use Alchemy? That coupled with the Xingese loop hole, and I was able to do pretty much anything I wanted, so long as the circle was constructed for me personally.
Anyway, I was at the Gate at last, requesting Mustang's ability to see. At first, I was told I didn't have anything to exchange. I guess I looked desperate enough, because the being at the Gate informed me I did have something to exchange.
It was actually several things. First was my ability to have an orgasm. Needless to say, I can still get aroused. Second, my sexual orientation switched, and now I'm homosexual.
The next sentence was erased and then scratched out, but Mustang could make out the word 'sexy.' He wondered idly if Ed was attracted to someone in the office, but pushed on and kept reading.
If you recall, I was feeling useless and depressed. And I guess that's why the third thing the Gate took was so fitting. My mortality. My death was removed from the future. I'm going to live forever. Miserable, alone, and useless for eternity. Just my fucking luck.
So foolish was I, to satisfy one goal, only to suffer a million lifetimes of wishing I had a purpose. Alas, here I am, immortal. Young forever. I guess I really am an idiot, huh? My fourth and final exchange was part of my soul – the part that permanently had Alchemy attached to it. The part I received from Hohenheim. I'm under the impression I would die with my soul ripped in half, except I can't die.
I'm not really sure why Mustang and I swapped eyes, but my conjecture is that I literally asked for Mustang's eyes, and received them. My intention was for Mustang to see, so my eyes replaced his. I can only guess, though.
Useless, helpless, homosexual, and never sexually sated forever. That's me. Not to mention I'm staying vertically challenged for the rest of my life.
Ed's signature was scribbled a few lines under it, and Mustang felt a pang in his chest. He was expecting something awful, but that was just… sad. He knew he'd never really understand what anguish this would cause Ed, since he had a feeling he'd never understand how much pain the ex-alchemist was in to begin with.
He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. Who should they tell? Was it fair to keep Al in the dark? Wouldn't people suspect something sooner or later?
He sighed and stood up. Ed. They needed to talk.
Ed stuffed his face in the pillow. He hadn't inhaled in three minutes, and it was really uncomfortable. For fear of giving himself brain damage, he exhaled and continued his normal breathing cycle. He was lying belly-down on his bed, his eyes closed. His hair was loose, but not messy, about his shoulders. He relished in the feel of his soft hair caressing his cheek and shoulders. Once again, he was naked, although the last time he'd done this, his mind had been turmoil and he was depressed. Now he just felt blank. Simple and easy. He didn't feel anything. Completely neutral – until a sharp knock on his dorm door brought him back to reality, and he wanted to be alone.
He sighed and called out, "Come in." He didn't care he was butt-naked and uncovered. He just wanted to sleep. He nuzzled his face further into the pillow when the door swooshed open and closed again.
"You should have said you weren't decent," Mustang's low, cool voice wafted into Ed's ears. The blond merely grunted in response, still not particularly caring that the man could see his nude body. That was, until he turned his head and opened his eyes. Mustang was dressed in his uniform, his hair somewhat disheveled and sweating slightly. Ed closed his eyes again and let his head fall against the pillow again so he wouldn't get a hard-on while his body was on full display.
"Was there something you wanted, Colonel?" he asked tiredly. "I could desperately use some sleep." There was a pause, and Ed peeked an eye open to watch Mustang pull the chair away from the desk and sit beside the bed. A gesture that said he was going to be there for a while. Ed wanted some coverage in case Mustang became too hot for him, so he stood and pulled on some sweatpants and a button-up shirt, although he didn't button it.
Mustang smirked. "Chilly?" Ed snorted in response and lay back down on the bed, on his right side so he was facing the Colonel. Their eyes locked in a staring contest and Ed was suddenly glad he had pants on, so the Colonel couldn't see his penis twitch. The man was so hot, and Ed recalled erasing and scratching out a similar statement in his report. "Ed," Mustang said seriously, pulling the blond back into reality, "How do you know for sure that you can't… die?"
Ed raised an eyebrow at the question and replied, "Do you want to see what happens when I cut my wrist?" Mustang stared intently at Ed, trying to guess what the kid was thinking. Ed stood up and left, heading for the bathroom. He came back in a few moments later and Mustang watched skeptically as Ed grimaced and put a razor to his perfect flesh. There was a spurt of blood, but within seconds, something resembling pink lightning flashed across his skin, much like the regeneration of the homunculi, and the wound closed. This wasn't what caught Mustang's attention. Instead, it was the way Ed dropped the razor and clutched his arm while it healed. It was the way Ed's face contorted in pain that caught his attention. He watched in half fascination and half horror as Ed's grip loosened and he panted slightly.
"Ow," the blond allowed himself to admit in a whimper. That was all Mustang needed to kneel next to the blond and pat his back hesitantly. His eyes found Ed's and neither of them needed to say anything for a moment. Then Mustang asked a question that had been bothering him.
"Who are we going to tell?" he queried quietly. His hand was now resting between Ed's shoulder blades, but neither of them seemed to notice the contact. Who did Ed want to tell? Certainly Al, and Winry. Who was even worth telling? Ed sighed and poked the tingling flesh on his arm absently.
He shrugged at last. "We tell everyone."
Mustang's brow furrowed. "If you want, Edward." Ed's head snapped up and their gazes locked. It was one of those few times the Colonel called Ed by his first name and it was actually somewhat endearing. At least, it seemed so to the blond. Then he examined the Colonel again and realized this was the perfect position to lean in and rest his head against the older man's shoulder.
Instead, he looked back down to his hands and whispered, "I'll have to get used to being lonely, huh?" The silence after was deafening. Ed was just reminiscing sadly over what his future could possibly entail. Mustang was warring with himself. He wanted to somehow soothe Ed's pain, but how? A hug? Was that inappropriate? What could he say to that?
Eventually, he settled on rubbing Ed's back and whispering, "You'll make friends."
"And they'll die," Ed spat bitterly, "Just like Hughes." Silence followed the name, and Mustang felt another pang in his chest. He really had no idea how much Ed was suffering and he knew he didn't completely comprehend the torture. Ed buried his face in his hands. "Oh, God. Al…" Mustang's brow furrowed when he heard the utterance. What about Al? He was sure the younger Elric would forgive Edward – and then he put it in context. Ed was going to have to sit through his little brother's funeral one day. And Al's death would weigh on his mind every day for the rest of eternity.
The older man decided a hug was definitely warranted, and slowly pulled Ed close. The ex-alchemist showed no sign of resistance, and let his superior hold him.
"Sh," Mustang cooed, petting Ed's hair, "Its okay. Now is what counts, and right now Al is alive and healthy. That's what matters." Ed turned and buried his face in Mustang's chest, his arms wrapping around his superior's waist. He squeezed tightly, suppressing a sob.
Under normal circumstances, he'd be angry and indignant, but circumstances would never be normal again. How could he be angry at such a handsome face? One that could be dead tomorrow. This could be the last time he saw the Colonel. He had the sudden urge to tell the man everything he felt, but what did he feel?
"You're so beautiful," Ed murmured, "So sexy." Mustang tensed and suddenly wondered if a hug was actually appropriate. Ed apparently had nothing else to say, and didn't seem to make any more moves, so Mustang relaxed and kept petting Ed's hair. "I'm sorry," Ed muttered, pulling away from the embrace, "I shouldn't have said that." He was abruptly aware of how improper the comment was when they were hugging like that.
Mustang sighed and dropped his hand. "It's quite alright, Edward. I think I understand why you said it." They looked down at the same time. What could they do? Ed's emotions for the Colonel were just starting to bloom, but Mustang really didn't know what to do. He'd always appreciated Ed's body. It had always bordered between lust and just appreciation. He'd always cared for the blond, too, but he couldn't tell if it was more than a superior-subordinate relationship. After all, he was rather protective of what was his, whether or not it was lover or comrade. Neither knew what to make of their emotions, and so they just sat and wondered how they were going to handle everything.
"What am I going to do?" Ed groaned, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. His chin rested against his knees and he looked resigned. A sudden thought popped into Mustang's head and he could stop his mouth from moving in time.
"So you can't have an orgasm, huh?"
Over the years, Ed hated watching his companions grow old. When he wasn't wishing Mustang loved him back, or spending time with the people he knew he'd miss, he was researching and looking for a loop hole so he could die.
Ed was fifty years old and looked like he was twenty when Mustang died. They had been on a barren battlefield when Roy was shot in the back. Ed recalled the way his eyes widened and he staggered forward in slow motion. Ed's own eyes had widened at the sound of the gunshot and turned in time to see Mustang fall. A scream ripped through the air, and Ed wasn't aware he was the one screaming until he stopped to kneel and roll Mustang over.
"You can't die!" he'd repeated over and over while Mustang's breath became uneven, "You can't! I – I love you, you can't leave me…"
Mustang smirked weakly, an obvious attempt at being smug, "T-took you long enough. I love you, too, pipsqueak."
And that was that. Al's funeral was unbearable, as was Mustang's, Riza's, Havoc's, and Winry's. More people followed them until Ed was left with the aging child, whose parents were Havoc and Riza. Her name was Genevieve, but she was called Gene. Ed didn't talk to anyone but her, and even their interactions were limited. He used the library daily and spent all his time reading and thinking of a way to die. It was sad and lonely. Ed, it seemed, was forced to live forever. Watching his friends and family and potential lover die was too much to bear. Even Gene died one day, and Ed was left to wallow in his pain by himself.
It was an unfortunate evening, many generations after Gene's death. Ed had found a way to die, and he was celebrating in a long walk outside. It was raining, and he recalled sadly how Mustang had been useless in the rain. Central hadn't changed much. The streets were renamed, but everything was the same.
Ed found himself staring up at the large government building. It had been so simple, and he had suffered so much. His chest welled at the idea of ending his torment. Tears pricked at his eyes. How many times had he cried over his dead companions? Too many and he'd lived too long. It needed to end. The moment both Al and Roy were gone from his life, he was ready for it to end.
And it finally was going to. Then he did it. He could recall, as he lay down on the ground, staring up at the black clouds with the rain pounding on his face, how he had done it. All he knew was that his life was seeping from his body and into the pavement under him. His vision was starting to go dark and he knew that soon, his suffering would end. He wouldn't need a goal. There would be no one to miss.
His eyes widened, panting heavily as his eyes focused on a form hovering over him. He could tell it was an adolescent man, and his heart skipped a beat as he recognized dark hair and a black gaze. It was unmistakably a younger Roy Mustang, and Ed thought sluggishly about reincarnation.
"Roy," he gasped before Roy's eyes glazed over, signifying Edward Elric's death. The kid standing above Ed knelt and checked his pulse, wondering who Roy was. The name reminded the boy of the dead hero he modeled himself after: Roy Mustang. Owen shook as he realized the blond below him was dead. It was the first death he'd ever seen.
A/N: I understand this is one of those "uh, wha?" kind of stories. Its not satisfying in terms of romance but it isn't exactly angst either. It doesn't entirely satisfy one genre or the other, so I understand this is kind of strange to read. Please review, though, and let me know what you think ^^