A/N: This does take place in 003. While I love the ending (even though I cried) I needed Edward still in Amestris and Alphonse restored to the age he would have been instead of a child for this story so let's pretend it happened this by the scene in one of the earlier episodes of 003 Fma where Edward has a flashback of his and Al's attempt at human transmutation because of seeing a victim of Barry the Chopper. The next scene Edward wakes up undressed with Tucker by his side. Also Professor Elric because I live for Edward being a professor. Originally posted on ao3 under the pen name youngjusticewriter.

Sometimes you have a puzzle in your mind. About something that doesn't make sense but there are far more important things like getting your brother his body back. Like the creeping and dreadful feeling that the man you lived with for months might have done something worse than you did. Purposely choose to do it.

You got your brother his body back yet you can never forgive yourself for all those years that Alphonse didn't have one.

Anyway, the puzzle in the back of ever turning, ever moving, mind of yours. It's almost forgotten until last night.

You're used to pain. It's not a friend but a companion that is almost as faithful as death and Al. Apparently you're pain tolerance is disconcerting to Roy unlike your age. (That's funny in a dark way but your life has been a dark thing ever since you screamed until you were hoarse for Greed to stop fooling around, to wake up- he can't be dead.)

This sick feeling, the twisting of knots that aren't in your stomach but feel so, is a pain you don't know how to handle. Don't know how to pretend to be happy, to be louder than you normally are because otherwise they might notice you're trying to breathe instead of damn well doing it (and God is that pathetic) and hide the shakiness in your fisted hands.

Today you're not loud. Today you're as mute as Rose was even though you have no right. Today you don't hide the shaking of your hands in your pockets. Today you stay in the bed of your apartment with a trashcan next to your bed that smells putrid. You hadn't moved to dump it. You hadn't moved since you had left Roy's place after the sick realization of where you got that fucking bruise from all those years ago when you hadn't even been a State Alchemist yet.

You didn't tell Roy. Shou Tucker's sins were not to be forced on Roy's already condemned soul. Except, you think as you curl further into yourself and your cold automail digging painfully into you, it wouldn't be forced, Roy would just blame himself and you know that because despite all your shouts and spiteful words of hatred you two are alike. It's what draws you together. Like a moth to a flame and you burn yourself because of that attraction. You both do.

There's steps outside your door and it's not the unsteady pace that gives Alphonse away. Only Alphonse has the key to your place. You'd end up spending money on replacing the lock instead of research or food if you gave it to Roy. And really, being a professor pays less than being a dog of the military so you have be a bit of a Scrooge with your money.

Most days you don't mind though. Most days you busy teaching classes to kids older than you who think they good enough when they don't know fucking shit (it reminds of yourself so you're only mildly hard on chewing their privileged asses out). Most days you're too busy working to wonder if you did the right thing. Got away from being the people's alchemist when there are fuckers out there like Tucker. Little girls like Nina. Victims like you.

The door creaks when your brother opens it. It's too late to be a coward and close your eyes and pretend to be asleep. It's only because of the lamp by the bed that you see your brother's nose wrinkle at the smell of vomit.

He doesn't saying anything yet. He just presses his lips together and looks down on you with knowing eyes that take after your mom and Sloth's. You hate that look almost as much as you hate pity. You wish he'd just spit whatever he's going to say out.

"You try too hard," Alphonse begins softly a minute later. "whenever you're honestly trying to hide that you're not okay brother."

He walks over to the bed. He gets on it as his eyes briefly flicker to hickey on your throat. He doesn't move to touch, to comfort you, right away. Instead he stays on the bottom of your bed.

You don't know how to feel about that. Knowing your brother he'd probably say that's okay or some shit like that if he knew.

Alphonse plays absentmindedly with the quilt on your bed. "I can always tell when something terribly wrong because you don't try and cover it. You just brood."

There's silence in-between the two of you and the strong smell of your puke in the air. You curl closer into yourself so your automail can dig dipper into you. Pain, like a purpose, can make you focus. You've often been in pain when you most needed to use your brain and the knowledge that burns in your mind that taunts you with future events on the tip of your mind's tongue but too late, always too fucking late.

This time, unlike all the others, it doesn't help. This time you've recently learnt Tucker gave you a hickey. Possibly molested you. You figure that's a good reason if there was any to why it doesn't help.

Alphonse finally moves after dreadful long minutes of silence that just seem to just drag on painfully. He doesn't get under the covers when he hugs you. If it was anybody else - Roy even - you would yell for them to get off you and that you don't want to be cuddled like a kid (that you don't want to be touched).

But it's your brother and it's still a relief to feel flesh where his arms had been armor for years. That and sometimes the nicest thing in the world is to be held. Not to be told everything is okay because that would be a lie. Just be held by someone you love.