Disclaimer: I don't own FMA.
A/N: Set vaguely after the Barry the Chopper incident. Written March 23, 2007


Alphonse Elric was always waiting.

Waiting for smiles that reached the eyes. Waiting for words that had meaning, promises that weren't just empty shells, and disappointment after disappointment. Waiting, but never really expecting.

Sometimes he wondered if there was a real, scientific name for how he felt. The emptiness that filled his chest when maybe, he thought, the bright warmth that everyone talked about should have. It was like he was frozen in time, sometimes, in this unfeeling state as he waited for a sentence for the crimes he committed, for the things he never stopped. Awaiting a judgement that seemed like it would never come, while the world passed him by.

"Brother?"

"Yeah, Al?"

"Are you happy? With me? Like this?"

When Edward replies "You're my brother, of course I am," Alphonse isn't surprised. But part of him whispers it's not true.

So if Alphonse says "me too," it's ok. It's ok that it's not entirely true when he says it either, because Alphonse isn't even sure he knows what he is anymore - if he's himself or something else, something closer to the shell of armour he's bound to instead of a real soul, a real person.

Ed has suffered so much for him. Sometimes Alphonse thinks that his brother has suffered the most. If Alphonse says small, inconsequential things, though... if Alphonse brings home kittens and talks about the things he thinks he remembers, Ed smiles, and sometimes it almost even reaches his eyes. Sometimes they can both forget.

Maybe, he thinks, a numb, unreal happiness is better than none at all.