Disclaimer: I own nothing – obviously. The only I've ever claimed to own was my upside-down catfish, Captain Jack, and he has sadly passed on to fishy heaven. In his stead, I now own a pair panda catfish, which are jokingly named Ed and Roy for the moment. Mostly because one oddly swims in the bubble stream up to the tank light (Ed). This is completely weird behavior for a catfish – they prefer the dark – and this fish eats and eats! The other is highly territorial about the giant rock (Roy). It is the tallest and largest object in the tank, which he lays on top of surveying the tank below. I'm working on official names. But you still can't have them.

Story Dedication: To my longtime friend, companion and sounding board Patches; my calico cat. For 17 wonderful years it was always you and I and I miss you so. (3/22/1993 to 5/7/2010)

Story note/long-winded explanation: To all my long time readers, thank you for your near saint-like patience. I love you all dearly. To those of you just finding this, and providing it still reads "in progress", I'll issue this warning. I drop off the grid on occasion – and for months at a time. I don't mean to do it, but it always happens. Sadly, writing is my hobby so when life comes at me it is this story that suffers and, oh lordy, does life like to kick me around. But I do promise that I will complete this. So as of 2012, I am rewriting my chapters. I know. I know. Not what you guys wanted to hear. But the reality of it is that my style changed – a bit – and all my old chapters now bother my OCD. The good news is that my revisions are full-fledged revisions that flesh out my story better. That said, I do have a chapter 18. But I murdered it. So until its resurrection you will have to wait. I'm sorry for the wait but not sorry that you can't read it. It was all wrong for this work.

Additionally, if any of you out there see a glaring omission, misspelling, whatever and would like to let me know about it – please do. Given my less than stellar update schedule, I am my own beta. I proofread over and over again, but something always makes it through. You can send editing notes to . For the time being however, please only send editing updates on the revised chapters. (See profile notes) Thank you.

The cannon for this story is based on a mixture of the manga and both FMA anime series (pretty much all of it minus the endings). I pick and choose what I like because I'm the author – deal with it. All of the spellings for cities/names have been taken from the FMA Profile books, both the manga and the anime, printed by VIZ. If you think it is spelled wrong contact VIZ not me.

And lastly (frickin' A this is getting long), this fic contains boy on boy action. If you don't like that, then why in the hell did you click on this link? Click the back button and kindly leave. Thank you. *checks* Yep, for all of you remaining onto the fic!

Learning Curve

Realization

For the longest time everything was easy. I could grasp just about any concept, no matter how difficult, with such ease. Whether it was learning new words, math, and of course alchemy I could understand it. They called me a genius – a natural talent.

So why is this so hard? Why is it so difficult? I should be able to understand, evaluate, and apply it by now. To use it with such ease, it seemed as if I had always known.

But I can't.

I've failed time and time again. I can evaluate what I have done wrong. I can even understand why, but I repeatedly make the same stupid mistake in different scenarios. But it is the same mistake.

Over and over again.

Just this morning I managed to do it again. I presented the usual fanfare of complaining endlessly about going to that bastard's office. I even made a show of pretending to escape for my brother. But the truth is that I'm tired. I don't care anymore. After a while it became routine – having to report to someone else. So much so that it didn't matter to me. But alongside that routine built another. One where I complain and whine and rant and rave until I'm forced to report. Now it is expected of me – it is me. And I don't know how to change it.

There is no way to alter it since this is how others see me. I've been die cast as this incorrigible youth with a fiery temper. Who jumps at being called short – let's face it that still irks me – and hates milk. Honestly, why do people drink that stuff? It doesn't even taste good.

I can be nothing else.

Just a child.

A naïve, immature child.

How annoying is that?

But this morning I wanted to be different. I wanted to show you that I changed in the past three years. I'm not a child anymore. I don't know if I can be called an adult, with that stupid mistake following me around like a bad omen, but certainly not a child. I'm 15 years old! But what do I do? I act like a child to fill a role – an expectation. Once inside Mustang's – your – office my role continues to haunt me. I'm supposed to complain, call you names and you in return, and pass you a completely unreadable report. Just like a child would.

And I did. I played the role so well that it's second nature. I want to be different. I want to change. But I make the same stupid mistake over and over again.

Because it is expected of me.

Because I know no other way.

I know how I should act. I can understand what I should do. But I can't. I don't.

Over and over again.

I want to show you that I'm different. I want you to see that I've changed. I want you to see me as something other than a child. I want to reach a level of understanding with you – just like the others.

But how? I see how the others play their roles. Hawkeye is the strict mother type. She keeps all of her "boys" in line and ensures that the work gets done. Havoc is the gossiping and fun type. He's laid back so everyone likes him and he usually has something interesting to tell. Plus, his constant rejection by the local female population makes everyone at the office smile; especially you. Breda is the silently smart type. He gathers information with ease because everyone else assumes that a fat officer is both lazy and stupid. Falman is the neurotic regulation type. He ensures that everything is within code and running just as the military would like. This makes him perfect for paperwork processing. Kain is the little boy type. Still new, but possesses skill. They all indulge his need to harbor every animal – even you. Perhaps, Kain and I could be comparable if it wasn't for his skill. He's the technical type. He can fix everything.

In sum, Hawkeye organizes the work, Falman can complete the paperwork, Breda protects the office, Kain can fix the office, and Havoc can restore a sense of balance to the office. What is there left for me to fill? What do I do for you?

Ah, yes, my role. The occasional terror that stirs up the office.

I can't do anything else, but provide temporary chaos. That is all I do.

I'm temporary.

Just a strange interruption in an otherwise functioning unit.

I want to be a part of it so badly – to mean something more than an annoyance. To mean something that is of use to you. I don't know when I started to feel this way or why, but I do. I want to mean something to you, Mustang. Not as a child, but as more of an adult.

I don't know what that something is.

I realize that I've been staring at this ceiling so long that the image has been burned into my eyes. Great, now when I shut them I can see little negative squares.

Resigned to an inconclusive and circular thought pattern, I give up. Sighing loudly, as if the act would somehow purge the doubtful feelings circling my brain, I move to stand up.

"Brother, are you alright?"

"Huh?" Al's disembodied, metallic voice, offset by so much warmth and concern, reminds me that he's still here. He's been here the entire time – at my side like always. I wonder how long I've been at this?

"Are you alright? You've been staring at that ceiling for a least an hour or so."

Well that answers that question. "Oh, sorry Al. I'm just working somethin' out."

"Can I help?"

I could swear that I saw the armor brighten. Maybe I just remember how Al would. His eyes would get wide, his smile begins to fill the lower half of his face and it looks like his entire face just, well, brightens. He's always been like this. And for a moment I'm jealous. They all see him differently – even you. They think that he is a responsible, mature adult. His only drawback is his innocence.

Instead, I put on a fake grin to show him that I'm okay.

"Nah, I don't want to think about it anymore. Let's get something to eat. I've been here too long!"

Al just laughs.

He knows I'm lying. We both are. I know he can tell that there is something wrong with me. That I'm not my usual self. But I don't have the heart to tell him that I've changed. Just like he doesn't have the heart to call me on my lie.

Roughly four months later

So here I sit again. On the same crappy, fraying couch staring at the same smug face. Your face. A sight that is forever burned into my mind. Your short, black hair disheveled like you just left whichever girl this week to get to work on time. The almost too long black bangs forever daring to obscure your eyes. Skin so pale that the contrast makes you appear delicate.

You're anything but delicate. Our mock battle – my certification assessment from a while back – proves that fact all too well. I wonder if the parade ground was ever fully repaired.

I watch your trademark smirk creep its way across your face and I wonder what caused it. That smirk is never a good sign. It usually heralds that sanctimonious tone of voice that makes me want to knock you unconscious.

Maybe it's because I bothered to type my report this time. No one ever considers the fact that prior to my failed human transmutation attempt, I had been right handed. I learned to write okay with my left and do other necessities, but it wasn't the same. And trying to write with automail is ridiculous. The fingers have never worked right.

So my handwriting can be more closely likened to a forgotten ancient text. Deal with it. I can read it just fine – most of the time.

The smirk widens. I can't take this anymore. "So what's with the stupid grin?"

You regard me with careful eyes. Those pure black eyes can hide so much. While mine betray me every time – transparent yellow. It's a dumb color anyway. I've always liked black better.

"I can read this."

"I'm glad that you're not illiterate."

"That's not what I meant." You sighed shifting in your chair causing the leather to creak. For a moment you consider the state of your uniform and brush away some unseen bit of lint. I can't help but track your every movement. "Did something change?"

I scowl back at you. Yes. "No."

"Hmm, is that so?"

Those eyes whittle away at my nerves. My only response is to cross my arms over my chest, turn my head so that you could only see my profile and close my eyes. There! There was no way you could try to read me now.

In my current sight deprived state, I feel hyper aware. As if the slightest change in this room will put me on pins and needles. The slight scratch as flint cloth rubs together, tells me you are lacing your fingers together to rest your chin on them. The uncomfortable knowledge that I am being watched, and carefully so, is only heightened by the soft rustle of your uniform as you lean forward. Staring at me, demanding a real answer to be given with those damned black eyes.

Every survival instinct I have is screaming for me to deal with the threat before me. Fight or flight. Ignoring it all, I refused to look at you. I knew that somehow the minute I looked at you, I would betray myself in some small way and you would know. I don't know how you do it or where you learned it, but you always knew. Something about me was completely transparent and readily available for you to read. Probably my freaky yellow eyes. It's not a natural color biologically speaking for humans. Cats yes. People no.

The hushed creak of leather and the loud clack of boots across the floor are soon followed by the high-pitched whine of well used hinges as the door is closed.

Oh crap.

And locked.

Shit.

You've placed me in your sights and ensured that I can't escape.

I try to regulate my breathing to slow my pounding heart. I switch positions since I can't keep this up. I kept my arms crossed, but I turned to stare at the little cannon on your desk. For back up, I know that there is also a pen and your name tag. I can alternate between them. Or I could just hang my head and hide behind my hair. Not a good option, but an option nonetheless.

And in this situation I need all the options I can muster.

"Fullmetal."

"What." Oh shit. That came out with less spite than I wanted – too soft. I sound so completely defeated. When did you get this domination over my mind?

I listened to you resettle behind your desk. I know that you are back in your former position with your hands locked together and eyes set dead on me.

I feel myself fidget and stop. My legs need to move so badly too. Everything in my body desires to flee this situation now, but I can't. What am I going to do?

"You've been acting… different."

"So." Ah, back to petulant child.

"Why?"

I realize that without any conscious effort on my part, I've begun to grind the toe of my boot into the floor. "What's wrong with it?"

I know I looked surprised too. I lifted my head to look directly at you. The very tactic I tried to avoid. I meant to say 'no reason', but it just popped out.

I watched you reign in your composure by bringing your eyes back to their customary narrow size and leaning forward on your hands. "There's nothing wrong, but… you don't seem to be yourself."

I remain silent and fight the urge to break our stalemate by looking at the little cannon again.

"You even left the town intact. Not one explosion or building leveled. You've been so…"

"Normal? Responsible?" I added 'mature' under my breath. Please pick a good trait. I want to be better for you.

"Agreeable."

Suddenly my nervousness stops. I wished I could gasp for breath. Cry. Anything. It hurt so badly. My stomach felt sour. My mind shocked as if you had reached across the desk and slapped me. I let my head drop; silently thankful for my hair's length. Now you can't see me – if you ever have.

A child. Nothing more than a child. A child reigned into compliance.

"Yeah and…"

"I was wondering why. You usually go out of your way to…"

"But I didn't."

"So why…"

"Because I felt like it."

"Edward…"

"Are we done? Al needs to be cleaned up."

I lifted my head again once I managed to bottle the hurt. Once I knew all I would display was that fiery spirit I'm famous for – typecasted as.

"I suppose so, but are…"

"Later."

I stood in my usual huff and for once was grateful that this petulant child act was second nature. I was a fool to think I was anything else – or could ever be. This is who I am and will be forevermore. There is no way to alter it, no way to change it. It is my part. To cause chaos, reign destruction, and be a general pain in the ass. I can't expose any of my other traits – they aren't important. Just about as meaningless as my role. It doesn't matter that I wanted you to see how kind I could be – even thoughtful at times. To show you how smart and mature I could speak. How quiet and happy I could get.

But it doesn't matter – and it never will.

I'm not sure what I wanted from you. Respect, acknowledgement… I don't know. Maybe this was all to prove something to myself. But it's over now. There was no sense in trying further. I could fall into this act. Become lost in it forever.

In the end it was a simple decision. I could change with Al. He wouldn't care. He always accepted me – gave me a friend when I had no other. Al was funny that way. If I had never been around he would have grown up just fine. He would have been normal with normal friends and a normal life. Even now, there was no one who didn't like him. Only a few people were scared of him because of what I made him into. I put him in a seven foot tall suit of armor that scares people. I did it. Without me he would have been fine.

Without me…

I'm the messed up one – everyone knows. I get angry and yell because I'm frustrated. I can think like an adult, comprehend like an adult, but I can't act like an adult. I can't even grow into an adult. I've been this way for so long. It's such a feeling of dissonance.

But here we are and I have a responsibility to fulfill. To fix Al – myself be damned. This was all my stupidity – my fault. This is what I'll focus on. No more distractions. Forget the military. I didn't need them as friends. I don't need acceptance. I don't need you. Focus on Al, the only person who stood by me through all of this. The only person who doesn't think that my automail limbs are ugly, that really thinks I can do anything, that knows I'm not child – I'm "big brother". The only person who should and will matter.

Somehow in my fervor I managed to exit your office, escape the surprised looks and comments from your underlings, and wander down a vacant hall where I could finally allow my face to match my feelings. I wanted to hit something, scream at this loss. To let you go. But I didn't know what to do. I only knew that I could run back to Al. He'd let me do whatever it was that I needed to do. And he wouldn't ask why.

Somewhere down the strange and forgotten path I took in the hallways, I thought I could hear your voice calling out my issued name – Fullmetal.

Probably wishful thinking.

A/N: Please review or at least rate. I love my reviewers! I hope you enjoy the new version of LC.

*Need a charity? Visit nationalmssociety (dot) org for information on how you can help fight Multiple Sclerosis.