He didn't know when it started, but it started all the same.
Perhaps the earliest instance he could recall that evoked that uncomfortable, strange sort of wariness in him was the first headache. The night in Central City was chilly, but his brown overcoat kept him warm from his shoulders to his knees. Before it was his, it had belonged to his father, so the shoulders slipped past the edge of his own a little, letting the sleeves dangle just an inch too long for comfort.
"Do you think my neck would be any warmer if I let my hair down?" Ed asked Alphonse, turning the collar of the coat up against the air, despite a lack of wind. A twinge of pain swirled in the back of his head, tight like a rusted iron nut.
"Maybe? I don't think I've ever seen you with your hair down in public," his younger brother laughed. The shorter boy started to unwrap the pale green scarf Rose had knit for him, revealing a crisp black collar edged by silver embroidery and the hood of his red coat. "Here – I'll be fine without it."
"No!" Ed protested, pushing the scarf back to his brother's chest. Alphonse may be all well and sturdy now, but he couldn't help but think back to the months Germany where they had shared a bed with only a single blanket between them. So what if he still wanted to provide? Maybe Alphonse was technically nineteen now, but his fourteen year-old body was still growing. "I want you to be warm – it's cold out, after all."
They had stepped into the light of a particularly bright streetlamp. Another twinge of pain rippled in the back of Ed's head, only this time it stayed, resting on his brain like a heavy hand.
"Ugh – I need to take this tie out. Ponytail's giving me a headache," he said as he carefully pulled the elastic tie from his hair. A smooth bump folded his tresses where they had been pinned to the back of his head, making his hair seem far wider than it really was. He nearly felt vulnerable without the hair tie in. Golden brows pressed down slightly – what was he supposed to do with it floating around everywhere?
"Agh!" He gripped his head with both hands as the pain rolled like a bucket of dice in his head. Almost distant, he could hear the heavy clatter as his briefcase dropped to the sidewalk, tipping over but not falling open. Darkness came as his eyes closed, not wanting to watch the ground swirl and bounce as he bent over in irritation and pain. "Fucking migraine."
"Brother! Are you alright?" Alphonse placed a hand on his shoulder, having set down his own briefcase to care for his (currently) sole family member. The negatives behind his eyelids swam like fishes in an oil slick, bright and heavy like they were trying to move across the surface of his sclera.
"Mm... Shit. I'll be fine, just - ...Give me a moment." A shiver traveled across the top of edges of his shoulders, itchy and so minute that he wouldn't have noticed it if he weren't so tense. His voice caught in the middle of his throat, building there like a heavy rock that pulled down his tongue. Why was he so... uneasy? Was he going to be sick?
And, as quickly as it came, the ache had disappeared. It left his cranium light and airy, if a little disoriented at the sudden departure. Ed shot back up, looking straight into the yellow glow of the iron streetlight, but faltered.
"Whoa there!" Alphonse exclaimed as Ed stumbled backwards. The younger brother had placed himself behind Edward, catching him by the shoulders to keep him straight. The boy stumbled backwards for a step or two – Ed was taller and heavier, after all. "What's wrong?"
"I just had a really bad headache..."said Ed, his voice a little quieter than it had been a minute before. "Maybe a storm's coming." And it must be. That was a reasonable conclusion. He could see the silent clouds in the night sky, puffy and spread across the atmosphere like the waves of an ocean despite their stillness. It might rain soon.
Ed pulled the collar of his coat tighter around his neck. He absentmindedly observed that despite the wool, the back of his neck was still cold, but now it was a bit clammy and bothersome.
"Let's go, Al." The two brothers retrieved their cases from the pavement, continuing on their way to the hotel.
Even though he had come to the conclusion that a storm was on it's way, he had never noticed that his ports didn't ache once the entire evening.
.
Nightmares weren't unusual – they came with the job description, he supposed. State Alchemist. The ultimate taboo. Nightmares. They all just kind of blended together when he had a bad day – but it wasn't often that he dreamed, or remembered his dreams at all.
But this was the first time where his nightmare didn't seem to have all that much going on. His figure almost looked like it was illuminated, if only because he could see it in regular light while he was surrounded by complete and utter darkness. It was like he stood in a normally lit hallway, only he was the only thing visible within it.
"Hello?" he called out, not really needing any reason except for it being his first instinct. "Is anyone there?"
A light sound – almost like the ringing in your ear that popped up when you heard a gun fire one too many times – danced on the edges of his ears, barely discernible among the definite silence. But it was scratchier. Rough, and unrefined like the peaceful static of an answered radio signal. His heart began to beat in his chest like it was jumping up and down. Why was he so uneasy?
The sound grew louder, scratchier and more varied as whatever was making it drew closer. He ran, his breaths coming in quickly now – for what? Fear? Why? What was there? The buzzing started to separate into indistinct snippets – words, breaths, voices. He couldn't feel it beneath his feet, but it almost seemed like the darkness was shifting around him, bulging in bumps, lines, and squirming like animals under a black tarp.
Giggles joined the whispers, interrupting the windy conversations that never seemed to get father no matter how long he ran. His blood pounded through his ears, and his steps matched the rhythm of his heart. It wasn't until his clothing was snagged – against branches? From what tree? He looked down, right into a multitude of purple eyes, wide like a child's. Dark, nearly invisible fingers grasped at him, pulling tighter each time he heard a giggle.
It never occurred to him to scream until he realized he couldn't see his illuminated body anymore.
The migraine was back the next morning, and so was the uneasiness. Ed groaned as he rubbed the back of his head, the tangled strands of gold nearly getting caught in the joints of his metal fingers.
"Bad dream?" asked his little brother, peeking out from the covers on the other side of the room. Ed chewed his lips guiltily as he spied the groggy look on his brother's face – the boy hadn't been sleeping well ever since he started classes at the University so he could officially join the Amestrian Alchemic Society.
"I can't remember it..." he groaned, putting his face in his knees. "Not sure if I'm upset about it though... I get the feeling it wasn't too pleasant."
"...Was it about Mom? Or Nina?" asked Al. His grey eyes, so much like their mother's, were more curious than tired.
"I don't know," Ed waved a hand at him, pointing to the entrance to the suite's kitchen. "Can you grab me some water? My head is killing me." The boy nodded, eager to help his brother with any of his pains. Alphonse came back with a cold glass of ice water and a few pills from the hotel's complimentary medicine pack. Ed accepted them gratefully, swallowing the pills dry before washing the feeling away with the glass. "Thank you." Al hummed, sitting on the edge of his brother's bed as he drank.
"How are your classes going?" Ed asked, concerned over whether his brother was getting enough sleep.
"They're easier than I expected... I've never had to write a paper on alchemy before though, so that's kind of hard since we have to do one basically every other day... But I'm doing well." Al smiled, and then grinned with his teeth when Ed ruffled his hair playfully.
"Well, you have a big brother who's literally the best and coolest alchemist in Amestris," he said as Alphonse punched him in the arm. "So I'm not surprised that you're top of your class."
"Who told you that?" Al demanded. "I wanted to tell you once my semester grades came in."
"You did, just now." His brother's face flushed in embarrassment, and the younger Elric frowned and punched Ed in the arm once more. It was nice, being able to hold his brother again, to see him after a few years living Beyond the Gate was like a dream, and he never wanted it to end.
A giggle broke his calm, its high, pearly tone echoing like an ominous bell.
"Did you just giggle?" He asked his brother, put off by the familiar, yet unwanted sound.
"No?" Al blinked, bewildered.
"Nevermind." Ed laughed it off, extricating himself from his sheets so he could start making breakfast. "I don't even know why I asked."
.
.
It first spoke to him when he was drunk, although he had heard it's bell-like tone before.
Edward Elric had always gotten the best inspiration under the influence, be it for alchemy, aeronautic engineering, or architectural design, beer was the answer. In Germany, his... amputations, as he had told (lied) to people, had actually saved him quite a few marks since the blood to alcohol ratio per drink was lower. It was always nice for a night at the pub to be cheap. That way, he could spend more of his money on rocket supplies when his rent was draining the bank, and get a bit of inspiration at the same time. But this night was different.
"You're such a lightweight," said Jean, chuckling as a bit of amber heaven sloshed across his mouth.
"Shuddup... I'm missin' m' arm an' leg, you know..." His speech was slurred, yes, but his mind was racing. (Hydroxyapatite. Circle in the condensation.) Slowly, almost clumsily if it didn't mean his pride as a scientist was at stake, he sketched a transmutation circle with the water droplets that formed a ring of condensation on the wooden table.
The outermost edge was paler where the wet bottom rim of the cup forced the wood to absorb the liquid. (Calcium and phosphate.) A triangle here. Mercury there... This was a circle made to break down the calcium in the bones of a living creature, mimicking the Earth disease osteoporosis, if only more rapid and deadly with the likelihood of the bones collapsing in on themselves.
What the fuck? What was that all about? He quickly swiped the imaginary circle from the table, the cold drops painting a wet splatter on his lap. Pouting, he let out an irritated mumble. (Collagen fibers run in opposite direction in alternate layers to resist torsion forces.)
The time had passed by quickly – he didn't even realize that the others had left until they were already gone. The only one left at the table was the man next to him, sitting there with his heavy black coat still draped over his dress shirt and jacket. Wasn't he hot in that? He should take it off. A gloved hand – his own hand (was it his left or right?) - drunkenly tugged at the waxed lapel made to keep out the rain.
"Is too hot 'n here to wear a coat, stupidhead..." Roy Mustang acquiesced and shrugged off his coat himself, folding it and placing it in the empty booth seat across from them. Ed's hand traveled to the man's jacket lapel for support, his flesh fingers (it was his left, now that he thought about it) wrapped tightly in the cloth so he didn't tumble to one side. "You look like a dumbass when you're, uh, overdressed like that."
"Thanks for letting me know, Fullmetal," Roy chuckled, probably wishing he had a camera to get some blackmail. Too inebriated to detect subtle amount of sarcasm, Ed took it seriously, bowing his head as he swayed in his seat. But since he still held Roy's jacket collar, all he managed to do was tap his warm forehead into his neck instead of a proper showman's bow.
"You're walcome..." he said genuinely, not quite catching that his former CO was joking in the first place. Suddenly serious, Ed pulled at Roy's collar, forcing him to meet his eyes with only a few inches between them – obsidian ink into gilded fire. Roy blinked, gulping at the sudden closeness. Ed pointed at the spot where he had drawn the circle with a wet finger. "Don' activate that circle." It would eat bones. (Eat and eat and eat and eat.)
"Edward, are you okay?" Roy's voice was deep. It settled in a thick layer of his mind, not obtrusive, but it sat comfortably there nonetheless. A bare, calloused hand pushed the blonde away a few inches and gently pried his hand from it's vice grip, but Ed only nabbed his lapel once more when he swayed. (Would the transmutation start in the medullary cavity or on the periosteum? Let's find out.)
"Let's find out..." Ed absentmindedly repeated, a tad too drunk to register the origin of the phrase. He surged upwards, slinging an arm around Roy's neck and tangling a hand into the dark hair on the back of his head. Messy and unrefined, he melded their mouths together for nothing more than a breathy series of kisses, his eyelids slipping shut the closer he pressed himself. Ed was sloppy, only able to aim for the other's mouth and hope for the best, but Roy nipped his bottom lip, placing a light hand on the back of Edward's neck. "Roy... Stupid colonel..."
"I'm – hah... A little insulted," said Roy, dusting the chapped lines on Ed's lips with heated breath. "Calling me stupid and a colonel... It's Brigadier General now." Ed only hummed in response, ignoring him so he could drag his wet lips down the other's chin to give a damp press of the mouth to the top of Roy's neck. (Stimulating osteoclasts would be an alternative method.) The one-eyed bastard pushed Ed back into his seat by the shoulders, breaking contact. "I'd love to, but we should get you home to Alphonse. You're drunk."
"I know I'm drungk... Fuckin' dumbass." Roy allowed him to rest in face in the crook of his neck, arms still slung around his shoulders for support. Ed knew what was going on, certainly, but he was thankful that Roy has stopped him from going too far. This was already going to be embarrassing enough the next day. (He's material. Don't let him go.) His eyes and nose scrunched up, vehemently ignoring the annoying whisper that spoke behind his ear.
"Fascinating how you'll slur everything else, but you're sharply articulate when it comes to insulting me." Stupid bastard. He'll say the most annoying things, but recently Ed had found it increasingly hard to reply with a snarky retort like he used to, especially if Roy said it with that confident smirk of his, no matter how aggravating it was.
"Damn right. I'll gib you a dressing down like you wouldn't believe..." Roy choked as an automail hand tugged at the top button of his shirt, and Ed let a low chuckle undulate in the others collarbone. (Clap your hands. Experimentation is key.) He flinched at the passing of the blurry words across his mind, and pushed himself off from Roy. The blonde reached for his glass again, only to have it taken away and placed at the opposite edge of the table, just out of his reach. Damn. If he wasn't able to drink, then there wasn't really a point in being there. "Take me home. I'm tired."
Roy sighed, slipping out of the seat to start pulling Ed from the booth after slipping his waterproof coat on.
"Would that I could," he mumbled, pinning a shoulder under Ed's armpit to hoist him up onto his feet. "Let's get you back to your brother."
.
.
Days passed on without much deviation from the usual. But Ed wasn't drunk anymore, so there was nothing disguising the disgusting curiosities that crept out from the deepest corners of his mind. New transmutation circles, cell manipulation... He shook his head, erecting a steely resolve to ignore the voices. As if there wasn't already enough on his plate.
Ever since that kiss (multiple kisses, Ed automatically corrected himself) at the pub, he met Roy's gaze much more often than he had before, unsure whether it was him looking at Roy more or Roy looking at him more or both. But it didn't matter, because they would both immediately glance away once their pupils dragged themselves to the others' lips.
The past year had seen the two getting to know each other on the level of equals, now that Ed was a civilian consultant who lived off his protected accounts from his time as a military dog. They had come so far, going to pubs as a group, and sometimes running into each other while on their own, but after that kiss? Even their conversation was stilted – arguments weren't what they used to be. They weren't as fiery, less explosive, and perhaps... even tinged with a note of camaraderie. At least until Mustang coughed into a hand to get them back to the matter at hand.
The only conversations that didn't die where they stood were academic discussions. Sometimes it was new inventions that worried them (like the aeroplane that was salvaged from the Other World), new inventions that excited them (like the household "film box" that was being developed by an electrician in Dublith), or their all-time favorite: alchemic theory, which had also taken a hit in it's own way.
"...And what's really fascinating is that to make technetium – "
"Technetium?"
"It comes from the Hellasian word for 'artificial'. It's a Xerxesian root language," he quickly explained before waving it off. "Whatever – that doesn't matter! Pereese and Sigman managed to quickly degrade the matter using a series of Mendelsohn circles – but here's the kicker. They replaced the directory angles with a swipe border to circulate the subject particle, and – ..."
Ed suddenly stopped talking, staring at Roy instead. Maybe he hadn't noticed before, but he definitely had now. The Brigadier General's eyes gazed into his own, locked on like he was a target of those deep black eyes. His smirk was warm, and he looked genuinely interested, but that look... It made his stomach do flips. In a good way? He wasn't sure, but it definitely made him nervous.
"What the hell are you staring at me like that for?" Roy ignored his question.
"So Ed," said Roy, resting his face in his folded hands.
"...Yeah?"
"I've been thinking about expanding the uses of flame alchemy to something a bit more applicable to civilian innovation." Ed nodded, waiting for him to continue. "I haven't got much time right now, but would you be willing to discuss it with me another time? Perhaps over dinner?" What? He flushed, the tips of his ears burning. Holy fuck. Like, casually? Or... Ed shook his head, trying to dislodge stupid thoughts from the forefront of his brain.
If it wouldn't have been embarrassing, he would've dashed out of the room. What was Mustang doing, asking a question like that? He bent his head a little low, trying to hide his pink face behind his blonde bangs.
(Flame alchemy can be pushed further.) Ed nearly jumped out of his skin, scowling when he realized that there was no one behind his shoulder to whisper suggestions into his ear. This was a voice of a familiar timbre – it spoke to him every so often in tones that resonated with his bones. Strange, yet alluring. Foreign, yet close at hand. It whispered to him in indistinct breaths for a while, increasing so gradually that he never truly noticed when it began.
"Uh – I got to go!" Ed sped out of Mustang's office, not so much as sparing a glance behind him when Roy called his name and reached out a warm hand. The voice giggled, and he could almost feel the fingers slipping over the grin of the voice, failing to hide it's snickering grin.
"Shut up," he growled, startling a few cadets as he stormed past. The blonde ignored them, opting to mutter under his breath, unsure if there was someone who was there to listen. "I'm not crazy. There's no voice talking to me. It's just my scientific thinking process."
(Deuterium and deuterium yields helium and one spare neutron.)
"Stop it," he slapped himself lightly, scrunching his eyes shut to bring his focus back to reality.
(Huskisson was never this close-minded.) That crazy bastard with the bomb? The uranium bomb? He didn't need anything like that. He didn't want anything like that. That was knowledge that humanity was better off without. Forever.
It kept talking. Expanding on theories they roiled in Ed's mind against his will. Unbidden, he thought about the lone neutron – it could be used to spur another reaction, stronger than the first by several magnitudes. His gut sank lower as he parsed his own brain, his mood darkening with each foreign words that stepped into the muddy recesses of his psyche.
(You are a scientist. You should be experimenting.) No. Not with this. Not with the... bone-decomposing circle he vaguely remembered tracing in water droplets only a few nights previous. Every step he took outside of Central Command was heavy, weighed down as if his shoes were cinder block.
"If I could just get back to my goddamn apartment without any fucking commentary," Ed muttered to himself, unsure if the voice could hear him. "That would be peachy." The apartment was empty – a small note was left on the stained coffee table saying that Alphonse visiting Mrs. Hughes. Collapsing onto his knees, Ed gasped, tugging open the buttons on his shirt for air that he didn't know he needed as he pushed the door shut behind him.
It was aggravating, worrying, and disgusting to have these sorts of thoughts pushed through his stream of consciousness. They were forbidden. They were immoral.
(Things like morality and taboo occur when humans are scared of failure.)
Shut up shut upshutup.
(You know the woman with the salamander spine. His research is there.)
Gloved hands shook in his hair, gripping his scalp and sliding over his ears as if the rumble of his shifting muscles and rushing blood could drown out everything else.
(What do a bunch of stuffy old men know? It's only forbidden because no one's ever succeeded.) A young voice. A boy's. His own childlike ring was echoed back at him, unearthly and alien in the cold murkiness that coated each syllable. Suddenly, Ed felt cold, sliding down with his back against the door like his body was a bundle he could not hold any longer. That was him. Those were his words from all those years ago.
The words of a little alchemist who thought the sky could never be a limit.
.
.
The nightmare came back every so often, leaving him confused and feeling... watched. Sometimes he screamed, flailing and whirling around in every direction to try and find the shadows that danced at the edge of his vision. Where is it? He'd demand, too breathless to be any louder than a wisp on the dusty air. Stay away from me! The words would die on his lips once he awoke, not remembering who he was trying to get away from. It wasn't until Alphonse forcibly pulled him out of bed – risking a heavy metal punch in the process – and onto the floor that he could remember anything distinct.
"What – the Gate - Where's the - " Ed spun around on the floor, his hands desperately snatching at the floorboards for familiar ground. (Come back, Edward, we want you here.) Alphonse reached to help him up, wrapping his hands around his brother's bicep, but Ed shoved him off and pulled his arm away. "Don't touch me!" Alphonse landed on his behind, grunting with the ache from the hard apartment floor.
"Brother?" Ed snapped to attention, his golden eyes boring into wide gray ones. He stood, rubbing at his face in shame.
"I – Alphonse, I didn't – fuck!" He laid his face in his hands for only a second before helping Alphonse to his feet. His left hand ran gently through the unbrushed kinks in Al's hair as an apology. "Sorry Al, I just – I wasn't sure where I was for a second."
"Where did you think you were? Was it..." The Gate? Alphonse trailed off.
"Yes," Ed scowled, pulling the teenager's arms around his own waist before wrapping his own around the boy for a hug, even though a chill ran down his spine at the touch. (We were so close that we could touch you.) He stiffened, his hand snagging a few strand on Al's head by accident before patting them down again to rectify his mistake. "The Gate children... They keep grabbing at me with their stupid little fingers."
"You've been so jumpy lately... Is this why? Have you – Was the Gate speaking to you?" Ed squeezed him tight in the hug. If Alphonse noticed it was intentional, or noticed it at all, he didn't say anything.
"...It's been speaking to me for a while now," he admitted, feeling his brother flinch. He knew what Al was thinking. Why didn't he tell him? Why was he trying to deal with this by himself? Exactly how long was 'a while now'? "I didn't want you to worry." Al broke the hug, gripping Ed's biceps to force him to make eye contact. Ed shivered, grinding his teeth in displeasure at the feeling of fingers curling around his limbs.
(Break off those limbs. It's easy. Just a touch.) He gently pried the hands off, letting his own rest aimlessly at the sides of his body. The words... they disturbed him. He didn't like them but the more they spoke the more they wriggled between the crevices in his brain.
"Well it's too late for that, Brother. I've been worried."
"I thought it was something else until now... I wasn't able to remember what I was dreaming about, but now I think the two are connected."
"Connected?"
"I... Sometimes I hear things. I thought they were my own thoughts, but it's not my voice. It's just..." (Keep it a secret. He'll steal your research. You'll never gain knowledge if you let the boy get in your way.) Ed growled, smacking his head like he could knock out the words like water in his ear canal. "Damn! I don't want to listen to them. They tell me to perform transmutations. They dangle knowledge in front of me like a steak in front of a dog..."
"Brother..." Al reached a hand out to comfort him, but Ed shied away, backing up until the back of his legs hid the bed frame.
"But the worst part is when I can feel them touch me."
.
.
Roy must think he did something wrong – or that Ed wasn't interested. Was it possible for him to convince the military man that it was just nerves and butterflies in the stomach? That would be ridiculous – the newly reinstated Fullmetal alchemist simply did not get nervous, let alone butterflies in the stomach. But he did, a little. Really, it was that asshole speaking into his mind that tore him away from the proposition of a date.
"Edward," Roy said to him one day, catching him on an avenue around midday. He leaned out of his car window, catching Ed by the elbow for his attention. "Last time we spoke..." Had I misinterpreted the situation? The silent words came unbidden, heard by no one but themselves.
"What? No! You didn't – it was fine. It's all good."
"Then why did you leave?" Roy's dark brows furrowed, his left one unseen behind the thick swathe of leather that covered his empty socket.
"I just... I was really surprised that you were interested too... After the night at the bar, I thought I really screwed up," he admitted, looking away from the man's piercing gaze. If he didn't, his face would flush darkly just like back when he had a thing for Winry.
"...Then why didn't you come back? Did you change your mind?"
"Well, I did kind of spazz out last time... It was just nerves." Roy frowned, dropping his expression into a smirk of disbelief.
"Some nerves," he chuckled, sending a flirty smile his way. "Does that mean you're still available for dinner tonight?"
"Yes," Ed said quickly, leaning closer to the window of the car, and therefore to Roy. "I am most definitely available for dinner tonight." With a sudden spike of confidence, and maybe a bit of false bravado and flirtatiousness, he fingered the collar of the blue uniform, tugging it so that Roy faced him directly. It was warm – Roy's dark eyes were close, almost close enough to shut tight for a kiss.
"Well, that's good to hear." Roy's lips tickled the edge of his ear, huffing a particularly excited breath past his cold earlobe. "Your confidence is attractive – but you're red as a strawberry, Ed." That was embarrassing. Ed shot straight up, standing stiff and uncomfortably as he slapped a pair of gloved hands to his heated – no, blazing cheeks.
"Shut up, asshole!" Roy laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners into thin half-moons. Roy own hand snatched at Ed's arm, pulling him close once more to whisper in his ear. It would have been sexier – a lot sexier – if he couldn't hear that Roy was holding back more laughter.
"I'll pick you up at seven. We'll have dinner at my place."
"Don't expect me to cook, bastard," Ed flicked him in the chest, letting his fingertip linger on the tightly woven surface of the man's military coat.
"Why would I force you to cook when I'm the one inviting you over?" Roy snickered again, his crinkled eyes relaxing into a genuine smile, the flowery kind that was less flirty and more friendly. Unable to maintain his grumpy facade, Ed broke down into warm snickers and snorts. "What?" asked Roy. "Did I say something funny?"
"A smile like that looks so out of place on you," Ed breathed out, his hand gently hovering in front of his belly. "It's like an ill-fitting mask."
"I'll have you know that my smiles are very charming."
"I'm sure." With a wave goodbye, Roy started his car again, and pulled out from the side of the road to continue on his way to his own abode, as did the blonde. Ed couldn't resist the tight pull of a happy smirk on his face, and, full of warm anticipation, looked back at the car to watch it shrink in the distance. Through the murky back of Mustang's Model A, he could see a silhouetted hand in the air.
"What a loser. Who waves for that long?" Ed mumbled to himself, but not without a quirk of the lips. "Wait... What's that?" The arm was attached to a silhouetted body with it's own head. Had he completely missed the presence of a second person in Roy's car? No, he couldn't have. He didn't see a thing when he leaned into the window.
Then who was in the passenger seat?
.
.
If it weren't for the ever so faint ringing in his ears, Ed could have forgotten about the silhouette he saw in Roy's car and just chalked it up to a trick of the light. But the ringing was there, so he did not. Roy's two-bedroom townhouse was modest, and much smaller and more compact than he expected a Brigadier General to opt for; from what he could tell, it must be the same place that the man lived in before the death of King Bradley. It wasn't very cluttered; it was actually quite clean, but in some corners there were old marks of moved furniture, layers of dust, and the occasional neat stack of unsigned papers that Hawkeye would drop off.
The lighting was dim, romantic even, and the hearty smell of spice and meat wafted through the open archway of the kitchen. Ed held his coat in his hands, carefully folding and placing it on the plain loveseat in the den before going to see what Roy had been cooking. The cozy atmosphere almost got the ringing in his ears to go away, and almost made him forget about the silhouette in the car. Maybe he was overreacting? Was what he saw really related to how his life has been turning inside out lately? It couldn't be, could it?
Rolling his sleeves up to the elbow, Ed stepped close to the stove, peering past the taller man's shoulder to peek at what was in the pan.
"Hope you like stuffed peppers," said Roy, who turned his head to nose into Ed's blonde hair. "I made them especially for you."
"For me?"
"...They're stuffed with shrimp."
"Damn it, I am not short!" Ed snarled, steam screaming out his ears. The ringing ncreased, sharper and more tinny as he fumed about his lifelong compunction about the S word. "I thought you were gonna lay off on the teasing for our date."
"N̦̰̞͎̮̍̇͡a̞c͏̤̩ ͇̗̤̳̻̩̎̐̐̕o̤̩̅ͭ̿̅͋uͯ̉͏̝͓y͖͒ͭ́ ̲̀̃̾́e̦̥̟̳̻ͫ̃͠e͔͉͔̪̿̽ͨͨͩͥ͠s̛̤̱̙̲͗ͨ ̆͊͆ͯe͕̭͐̒̈́̒ͦ͑͂͘ḿ͔̦ͧ̌ͅ,̷͕͚̳̣̘͕ͯ̓̊̊ͩ̓̒ͅ ̖̤̗̙͔̯̪͞D̻̰̱͕̯̦̏ͬ͜e?̵ͦͨͥ͆͑ S̠͂̎̌̐̈̇t͌ͧ̃͝'̘̗̒̄̍̈ͬ͝i͒̆ͯ̊ ̪̟̱̇͜n̫̮̱̪̺͓͌̈́ͪͅḙ̺͈̗͇̌̏ͣ́͊̑e̴̻̩̖̝̅̓b̠̜̰̗͇̞̪͑́ ̞̓̓a̶̮ ̰̂e̤̖̹̪͙̞̲ͮͬl͍ͥ̑̏ͬͨ̔̚i̫͍̼͉̱h̥͙̤̙̱̬͛́̈́̒̑̇̂w̜̟̘̺ͪ.̶̜̺͙͍̹͕ͥ "
Roy's voice was garbled, as if put through a scratchy radio connection. Deep undulations of a man's voice, unnatural and choppy, spoke in a whisper as loud as a scream. It wasn't Roy's voice. The ringing slowly became louder, shaking his eardrums like an earthquake.
"What?" Ed breathed out, wide eyes searching Roy's face for an explanation of what just happened.
"Didn't you hear me? I said, 'you called me useless when I picked you up, so it's just fair to tease you.'" The dark-haired man propped a hand on his hip, straight-faced. "You were seriously zoning out there for a second."
"I... Yeah, I guess my ears are just a little fuzzy." The blonde waved it off, one finger rubbing at an aching temple. Hopefully they could just continue with their date.
"Maybe you should sit down," suggested Roy, who gently grasped Ed's arm to steer him to a kitchen chair. "Are you alright? Do you need to rest?"
"Yeah, I'm okay – I just –" he sighed, sitting down to rub at both of his temples, his mismatched elbows rest against the table. "I was really looking forward to dinner." He actually meant date, but Roy seemed to understand.
"I'm looking forward to dinner too." Roy chuckled, his dark eyes pulling up into the half moons that enamored the blonde earlier that day. He was close, warm with the scent of ozone and spice. Ignoring the pounding in his head and the shrill shriek of what a doctor could call tinnitus, Ed looked up, his own gold eyes meeting the heated gaze coming down on him.
A metal hand reached up and reached around Roy's loose, grey tie, vaguely reminding himself of that fuzzy night where he and Roy has kissed (read: necked in his aunt's bar). He couldn't feel it, but he knew the weave of the tie was slick and smooth, as strong as it was fashionable with the thin, subtle lines criss-crossing the cloth under his polished steel finger. He didn't even need to pull, but he pretended that he did, keeping the tie lightly taut as Roy leaned in close.
His breath was warm, and the dim kitchen, lit only by the orange lamp above the cooling stove and food, faded to a muted glow as his eyelids started to slip shut. Roy's did too, his black eyes thinning as they closed, but his gaze remained locked with Ed's own as he ran a bare thumb over the softness of Ed'
A dark shadow came into focus just past Roy, standing by the food in the pan. Ed's breath arrested itself in his throat, and he stiffened ever so slightly. A blurry, black hand pushed at it's face, as if to readjust a pair of glasses. That... The hand, the way it touched it's face. The faded polygons around it's head like locks of hair... Who was it? It looked so familiar.
"M͙̹͈̰̲̻ͩͨ'̴̘̞̝͉̹͎̟͊͐̋̚i̟̩͍̪͋̏ ̟̼̟̮̻̈́̀ͤ͐ÿ̻̹͍̐́ͣ͑ͥ̏p̩͙ͧ͗̈p͙̞̤͇ͯ͂ͤ̚̚ͅa̷̙̠̰̞̓ͫ̚ḫ͔ͥ͐ ̵̣r̤̱̮̹̿͋̿͒ͦo̞ͬ͋͝f̙̠͖̪̱͇ͮ̽ͫ̓́̽͞ ͒o̰̔͟u̬͓͊͑͋͐̆y̠̿ͣ̄ ̲͓͐ͥ̊̀o̿ͧͦ͑͋͐w͌҉̺̼̼̦t̛͌͊ͧͣ̒.̣̳̬͍̃ͣͦͥͩ̉ͫ"
It spoke a bit clearer now, but what came from Roy's mouth wasn't his own voice. It was the soft, and deep tones of a father that Edward had once knew – the gentle sounds of a happy man whose voice Ed thought he would no longer recognize, but he did. He dropped Roy's tie and reached behind him, his cold finger splayed wide to try and catch the shadow, but it disappeared, and the pounding in his head went with it. The shriek of bells and alarms too unnatural to be the hum of electricity silenced, and all he could hear was a different ring – gentle and low. The kind you only heard when the world was too silent to say anything else.
"What was that, Roy?" Ed dropped his arms around the shoulder's of the man to bring them closer, acting as if he had intended that from the beginning. Instead of speaking, a pair of warm, chapped lips met his own, melding with more finesse and intent than they had in that bar several nights ago.
"I said," Roy spoke with his own voice, clear and sultry, breathy and warm.
"You're beautiful."
.
.
Although at first it was fascinating, heart-wrenching, and confusing, the only thing that remained the same was that it was confusing. Seeing dark figures from the corner of his eye, only for them to disappear when he looked for them, meeting their gaze when he closed his eyes, and hearing their voices through the tongues of the living, all wore him down.
He was losing sleep because of the nightmares, he was snapping at his neighbors and comrades. And, fuck, it was becoming harder to tell the difference between the voice of the Gate and his own.
(Alchemists don't make discoveries without getting their hands a little dirty.) Ed smacked his head to try and knock the voice out from his mind. Since when could the Gate talk, anyway? Was it the Gate children who resided just past it's ornate doors, or was it the voice of a being that seemed to only exist in his mind?
Alphonse certainly noticed his troubles, and insisted that he ask someone for help, but hadn't been able to give his brother's secret up due to his own sleep troubles. At first, the piles of thick tomes and fragile packs of bound notes seemed like regular research. It was normal for either of the brothers to pile their materials around them in an order that only they could discern. But this was a little different.
Ed was frantic with his nose in a book, the pits under his eyes becoming sallow and dark from the lack of sleep. His mealtimes were never spent actually having a meal – he would still be holed up in their shared room, unaware that the day had slipped into the evening.
Thankfully, it was a little easier to hide this from Alphonse than it would have been some years ago. His university classes and lab hours took up much of his time, and often left him tired and beat by the end of the day. The classes weren't necessary, but it would certainly give him more credit than people would typically give someone who looks like a schoolchild.
The empty apartment was a little sad without the bright presence of his baby brother, but Ed was relieved. He didn't want Alphonse to see him withering away like this, locked into his mania, obsessively searching for answers about a metaphysical entity that seems unknown to all except for himself and his brother.
At the office, which he visited often, if only to get some fresh air, Ed dragged his hand down his face, grimacing into his palm. He needed coffee. A lot of it.
"You don't work for the military anymore, Edward," said Riza. "You need to take his opportunity to rest."
"I can't rest,Riza." Sighing, the right-hand woman set the stack of papers on Roy's vacated desk. He had gone home for the day, somehow having managed to get his work done early. Ed had only been there to grab a new report on intermolecular theory that Roy had left in the office for him. "My work is important."
"I don't know what you've been researching that requires you to sacrifice your own health, but at the very least you should take a break from it." Her brows furrowed above her light brown eyes. The last thing Ed wanted to do was worry Riza.
"...Sorry." She frowned now; it was unusual of him to apologize, even though it had happened far more often than when he was a teenager since he had matured in the past several years.
"Don't read your books or notes tonight, Edward," she advised, giving him a light pat on the arm. People who didn't know Hawkeye very well would say this was uncharacteristic, but Ed knew that she was just letting her "work" personality down to be more personable. "Just get some food and sleep."
"I will." Ed smiled, although the corners of his mouth didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thank you."
He didn't head home. Instead, he took a bit of a stroll to Roy's townhouse, although it wasn't very relaxing because he'd tense up whenever a shadow darted at the edge of his sight. If he went back to the apartment, he would only get sucked back into research, too deep in thought for his brother to pull him out of it. Riza was right. He did need a break.
It had been a week since his first date with Mustang. Soon after, they shared a meal another two times since Roy wanted to make sure that Ed got food in him. After the second meal with him, Ed started coming over whenever, sometimes just to relax and pass out on the couch. Like now.
The door was modest, like the rest of the exterior, and the cold spare key that Ed had snatched from Roy's cabinet over a bit of conversation turned in the heavy lock. Inside, the living room was dim with no lights turned on and just the barest bit of late sunlight peeking through the wooden slats on the windows before they would eventually fade into the evening. A light snore and a shuffle of breath grabbed Ed's attention, who stared unblinkingly into the shaded room to keep an eye out for shadows.
Roy lay on the couch, or rather, half on and half off. His right leg leaned out into a relaxed stretch on the floor while his left kept him mostly planted on the soft, utilitarian cushions. One hand lay gently on the soft spine of an open book, it's words unseen against his chest.
"Idiot..." Ed closed the man's ajar mouth with his hand, letting his rough knuckles dance along the ridge of Roy's jaw. He might knot have noticed the small smirk on his own face, but he certainly noticed how warm Roy's skin was. He was like a human radiator. Very carefully, Ed maneuvered himself into the crevice of space between the back of the couch and Roy's body, allowing his left side to drape over Roy's broad chest before closing his eyes to dream next to his friend.
"Ed," came a whisper, although the voice sounded like it was trying to shout. "Ed! Edward!"
"Huh? What?" Ed pushed himself up from where he lay, groggily looking around for the person calling him name. The living room had disappeared, replaced with a pitch black atmosphere, dark and unknowable, although he himself seemed to be highlighted like it was midmorning.
"Edward," a man spoke next to his ear. He yelped, slapping a flesh hand to his ear and scrambling in the opposite direction to prepare for a battle. A quiet chatter sounded in the background, unseen voices shifting like slithering snakes.
(The boy is here. The alchemist is here. Look at us, Edward. Dont you see us?)
"Who's there?!"
"Long time no see, kid." A hand, glowing with the same out-of-place luminescence that he was materialized out of nowhere in a line of white sparks, reminiscent of Greed's rapid regeneration. A blue uniform started to ravel itself into existence from string, coming together to line the form of a man's shoulder that he had nearly forgotten.
"Hughes...?" His voice cracked, his nerves shaking his mind like an earthquake. "Is that really you? I thought I saw you, before... But I couldn't be sure... I - " His voice caught, and only a strangled breath was released, as if he was being choked. The whispering grew louder, and it was now that he realized it wasn't coming from either of them. "I'm sorry."
"You did nothing wrong," Hughes touched a hand to Ed's cheek, fatherly even though Hughes just a tad too young to actually be his father. "Adults are supposed to help kids out, you know. And that hasn't changed." Ed was tall enough for his nose to hit Hughes' shoulder, only slightly taller than Roy. Caught up in his emotions, the blonde slung his arms around Hughes' body, the only indication that he was actually there being that his limb could clench no further. The man's ethereal body was pale, and temperature-less.
(He's talking to him. Let us have the boy, heathen.)
A flash of purple eyes came in through the corner of his sight, and left just as quickly. Who was there? Ed peeked back, but tightened his grip on Hughes.
(Come here, Edward. You belong here with us. All you have to do is - )
"I know you can see and hear them around us, but don't look at them. Don't listen to them." Hughes interrupted the voices, deciding to chatter on about useless things to drown out the noise.
It was mostly about how much he grew – and how much he didn't – but he didn't care. This was Hughes and he was here, where Ed could see him and tell him about all the things he missed, about how much of a stubborn troublemaker Elysia had become at school and how she wanted to be a detective when she grew up.
Ed opened his mouth to tell him – all about how Gracia was doing, about Al getting his body back, about Roy being the next in line to join the Brass – but Hughes shushed him with a friendly smile, as if he already knew.
The voices pressed in again, and Hughes looked around warily at figures Ed couldn't see.
(Bring the alchemist here. Give him to us. Sacrifice! Sacrifice!)
"I don't have much time, but you need to listen to me," he said seriously, his eyes glinting behind his spectacles.
"What is it?" Did Hughes know something about the Gate? Did he know how to stop the nightmares and hallucinations? "Tell me, Hughes!" The taller man leaned down slightly to force Ed to look him in the eyes, and firmly placed his two hand on the blonde's shoulders.
"Don't transmute," he commanded. "Do not perform alchemy ever again." Golden eyes widened, confused, and a bit fearful as well. Why? No alchemy, after years of helplessness in the Other World because his lifelong passion and skill had been ripped away from him? Why would Hughes ask this of him?
Bereft of words, Ed mused on the fact that he could feel Hughes' touch. He barely noticed the sharp pain where the man's hand gripped tightly at his left shoulder, the fingers nearly digging crescents through his sleeves.
.
.
His eyes snapped open when he felt the pull of gravity behind his navel, as if he had fallen from a great height. Ed's face was a little sore, having been pressed into the creases on Roy's shirt. Groggily, he made eye contact with the man below him, his black eyes staring, full of surprise at the young man's sudden wakefulness.
"Well hello, sleeping beauty," Roy chuckled, pulling a lock of wet hair from the corner of Ed's mouth and attempting to wipe the wet spot from his own shirt collar. "Although, you're certainly no princess with the way you snore and drool."
"Shut up," Ed slurred, pushing himself up to sit on muscled hips. He roughly wiped at his wet chin with Roy's arm, thoroughly rubbing it into the white sleeve.
"Why don't you use your own sleeve?!" Roy tried to yank his arm from Ed's grasp, but to no avail as the steely automail grip was far stronger than his own strength.
"I already slobbered on your shirt. What's a little more spit?"
"That's disgusting, Ed." Roy rolled his eyes. "You should really -"
Ed groaned, flopping back onto Roy's chest, his forehead pressed into the wet spot above his collarbone.
"Ugh – save the lecture! I had a weird ass dream and just wanna eat a meal after that debacle." Harrumphing, Ed wrapped his arms around Roy's neck, locking them together like puzzle pieces.
"What kind of dream?" asked Roy, holding the blonde with a hand on his back. He sat up, carefully shifting the alchemist's weight on his thighs. "Was it a bad one?"
"I..." Ed thought back to the fuzzy memories of Hughes, his voice blurry and his edges faded. "Yeah. It was you in a miniskirt. Your hairy man calves do not do a cotton skirt justice."
"Must have been terrifying. I'd like to think that a pair of kitten heels would make my calves pop, though." Roy stood, and Ed hung limply from his grip around the man's neck, his legs swinging in the air as the taller man moved the two of them to the kitchen for food. Outside the kitchen window was the glow of electric lights in another house across the road, bright against the darkness of the evening. Edward let himself rely on his feet on more, sleepily opening the refrigerator door to stare listlessly into the box.
"Although," Roy spoke from behind, grabbing the glass bottle of leftover milk and eggs from around Ed's shoulder. It seemed like it was going to be breakfast for dinner, whatever time it was. Was Alphonse expecting him home? A phone call could wait until after he ate. "I think you would look just fine in a skirt and heels."
"Shut your stupid face and make me food." Although he hated milk, Ed dutifully ignored the fact that Roy was frying up scrambled eggs with milk in them. 'The milk makes it fluffier,' he had explained. They ate peppered, scrambled eggs by itself, settling into a comfortable silence. Well. It seemed like it was comfortable for Roy, but Ed's mind was still reeling, nervous about the fact that he had lied, especially where it concerned Maes Hughes. Only a few bites of egg were taken. It was good, but he mostly pushed his food around the same way he had after the weird mindfuck that was their first date. Roy ate his eggs like he didn't notice, but of course, there was no way he hadn't.
"You didn't really dream about me in a miniskirt, did you?" said Roy, more of a statement than a question. Ed started, his sudden jerk scraping the metal fork on the plate painfully. His boyfriend said nothing more, leaving a pause for Ed to speak if he wanted. Ed could feel Roy's eyes on him, an uncomfortable sensation at best, vaguely reminding him of Alphonse's concerned looks whenever he thought Ed wouldn't notice. Roy sighed, but it wasn't tired, or exasperated.
"You don't have to -"
"I don't think it was a dream. It was a message." He wouldn't – no – he couldn't look at Roy. Premonitions? Prophetic dreams? Ridiculous. How could an alchemist hold stock in fairy-tales like omens and psychic visions? "I... Hughes was there. Speaking to me. It was dark, and... Murky." He could still feel the man's stare, concerned, and most definitely confused. Roy was nearly silent, for what was he supposed to say?
"...Maes?"
"Yeah, he... He told me to never transmute again." It was cold on the surface his mismatched hands, the strange stretch in the skin between his flesh fingers rivaled by the numbing complete lack of feeling in the other. His palms twitched to be clapped together, if only to disobey Hughes' orders. Instead, he rubbed them together, realizing that he was shaking, shivering against the icy steel of his own hand.
"Did he tell you why?" Ed snapped his gaze up, his face clammy with anxiety and a strange feeling of relief.
"No... But, you believe me? You don't think it's stupid?"
"After the events of last autumn, I feel like anything's possible." Roy took Ed's shaking hands in his own, grounding them with the heavy weight of his own flesh until their shivers quieted. "If this has anything to do with how skittish you've been lately, I want you to tell me about it." Ed swallowed around his own throat, nervous and cautious of how much to tell Roy. "Tell me everything." It was as if Roy could read his mind. Taken aback, Ed could only sputter and let his mouth hang open.
"But before you do, you should finish your food." He didn't have to be told twice. Mentally preparing himself for a long, tedious confession, Ed took a metal fork in hand and shoveled the eggs into his mouth. When Roy cleared away his plate, Ed took to his explanation while the faucet ran. Every so often, Roy would make eye contact and nod, furrow his brows and frown, or his eyes would widen with trepidation. But he was listening. He was taking this seriously. Ed himself felt the heavy implications of what was happening to him weigh down with every word. Before, it had seemed more like the world was fucking with him or that he was going crazy. But... the more he confessed, the more he realized that something was happening. And it was going to culminate in something very grave.
"But why are you being affected by the Gate like this? And why now?" Roy held his face in his right hand, rubbing at his knotted temples.
"Wish I knew." Ed held Roy's hand in his own, gripping his fingers tightly so that Roy would hold his in turn. "Almost more than I wish that it would all just stop... The thoughts... The whispers... And shadows... The fleeting touches... It's almost like..." Ed gasped, and a cold sweat broke out across the skin of his neck.
He was being drawn in.
.
.
Roy had convinced Edward to tell the team, and basically forced him to fully inform Alphonse, as the boy deserved to know the full story that Ed had tried to keep from him. Needless to say, it was trouble.
They were all called by phone, and although Roy apologized for calling so late into the evening, he wasn't sorry to order each of them to his townhouse for a meeting. They were all shocked and dismayed at what Ed had to say, and more than one argument cropped up over whether Ed had some strange type of shellshock or if a metaphysical dimension was really trying to take Ed from the world.
None of them had really known about the Gate beforehand besides Alphonse, who had regained his memories. Roy knew a little bit about it, having helped them close the artificial Gate on the Amestrian side of the dimensional divide. But he hadn't seen it. He hadn't been pulled into it's inky depths by the hands of giggling sooty-fleshed children too malevolent to be human anymore. Only Alphonse had any real idea of what he was going through, and even then, his younger brother didn't live with reminders of the intimidating door to Hell that blipped on and off the radar each hour.
"Al... Are you mad at me?" Ed's voice was embarrassingly weak as he hid his face in his folded hands. The teenage-bodied brunette sat next to his brother and leaned his mop of messy hair, half out of its ponytail, on Ed's shoulder.
"Of course I am. But I'm more worried for you than I am angry." He looped his arms around Ed's flesh arm, holding it close in a hug. "I can't lose you again."
"I don't want to lose you either," he replied in a guilty whisper. Riza came by with two mugs of steaming coffee and gently pushed them into the brothers' grasp.
"Thank you, Miss Riza," said Alphonse. He gingerly took a sip, licking his lips when he found that she had added cream and sugar for him (she gave a mug of straight black to Edward).
"We should make a list and timeline of what we know," said Kain. He pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen, ready to take notes whenever someone brought up an idea. Everyone looked to each other for ideas, but it seemed like nobody was really sure what was going on. Biting his top lip, Kain looked to Edward. "When did the um... symptoms start?"
"I'm not sick, Kain," Ed muttered darkly.
"None of us think you're sick, Ed," said Alphonse, who gave a glare at the telecommunications specialist.
"Sorry, Chief... Then," Kain corrected himself. "When did it all start?" Ed opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't meet the expectant gazes of his friends around him.
"I... don't really know. Probably a while ago. Anywhere between four and seven months after I returned. But it started with headaches. I know that now." Kain nodded, vigorously writing down the man's words without a word of his own. "The voices started maybe a month or two ago. I couldn't tell if I was just hearing a nearby person or not, or that it was a voice at first. But the more it happened, it became clearer, and more... Conversational. And aggressive."
"Was it hard to tell the difference between the Voice and your own at some point?" Jean asked, and it felt as if a spike rocketed through his stomach.
"Jean," Kain stressed through his teeth in a harsh whisper, although everyone heard it. The dirty blond held his hands up in defense, mumbling about it being an honest question. Roy cast a gaze over his subordinate, but said nothing, opting to think quietly behind his folded hands.
"...Sometimes," Edward gulped, and he rubbed faintly at his throat with his automail. "At first I could barely hear them. I thought it was just background noise, like in mess halls or bars. But when they got louder, they'd talk about alchemy, and suggest... research projects. It built up gradually until it wasn't something that could be waved off anymore." He continued, pausing only to let Kain's pen scratching catch up with his recounted tale of anxiety and harried research on the matters.
But when it came to the time he would spend with Roy, well... It was easy to keep his drunken, slobbery kiss to himself, but too many times he would edge dangerously close to saying things like "I saw a shadow stand behind Roy while he was cooking" or "I heard someone else's scrambled whispers when Roy woke me up." Alphonse already knew, of course, despite Ed having never spoken to him about his relationship, but that was different.
In the end, because Kain was trying to find connections between each incident, it seemed like he was often forgetting where he was, or secluded himself in his apartment far more often than he actually did. Ed looked to Roy for a bit of silent guidance, but found none. The man's single eye still stared from behind his locked fingers, but he gave no indication to how much Ed should tell the team. Not once in the past month and a half had they ever breached the topic of what to tell the office.
"It's okay, Ed. They already figured it out on their own." Roy waved a hand to try and allay his worry. "I wanted to talk about it yesterday, but I thought that might add too much stress, what with the issue of the Gate. I'm sorry I didn't let you know earlier."
"Oh." He thought he would be angry, that Roy had kept it from him. But really, the thing with the Gate really was stressing him out, and he didn't have the nerves left to deal with the who-knows-that-he's-sleeping-with-Roy issue. "It's okay. That's... a relief, actually."
Kain sharply tapped his pen on the paper, bringing everyone's attention back to the matter at hand. His eyes were dark, nervously focused on the criss-crossed lines and question marks that mapped his theories between each bullet point.
"...How many times did you say you've seen the Gate, Ed?"
"Maybe seven or eight times. Although I don't remember all of them."
The first time was when he transmuted his mother, the horrifying sight of Alphonse's deconstructing body temporarily forgotten for a few moments, just until it was too late. The second time didn't even count, really. He barely remembered the incident where Lust tried to make him transmute the prisoners at Lab 5, but he did remember the pulsing, glowing light around him; the faint tones of a woman, soft and homely, and the feeling of making eye contact with something strange and unblinking; and finally, the arms of Maria Ross bringing him back to the mortal plane.
The third time, which he supposed was really the second time as it was the next time the Gate had actually opened, was down in the opera house, the ringing, whooshing sound of Dante's transmutation echoing throughout the empty ballroom. He couldn't remember his journey back through the Gate, but he did remember his – no – the other Ed's death.
He passed through another two times, as he had surmised from Rose, who told him of his brother's sacrifice. But he couldn't remember those times either. And finally. He passed through another one, two, three times before finally returning to his intended life in Amestris, and although the Gate was artificial, created by Dietlinde Eckhart for the conclusion of her society's goals... It had been artificial. Did that count? He had gained no knowledge, and performed no transmutation on Dietlinde's Door other than to break it down.
"Seven or eight...? God..." Alphonse grimaced, audibly grinding his teeth in horror and worry. "Why did you ask, Fuery?" The short man was sweating nervously, his brows furrowed in concern.
"Do you think that you might have... overdosed?" He posed the question to Ed specifically, but the blond couldn't answer. Overdose?
"You think that Edward might have a case of overexposure to this... entity?" asked Riza. Fuery nodded.
"A lot of what the Boss is saying coincides with shellshock, but... After that invasion, we all know that the Gate is real. We just didn't really know anything about it until now." Fuery handed the sheet of paper to Ed, letting him look over it.
"I think it makes sense," said Breda. "The Boss' problems gradually got worse after he came back, but it's possible that it could've started a long time ago, and it just wasn't noticed."
"But what about my dream with Hughes?" said Ed. In his peripherals, he saw Roy stiffen. "Why did he tell me to not use alchemy?"
"When was the last time you did alchemy?" said Jean, leaning forward for an answer. When was that? He had gotten too used to a life without alchemy in the other world, so he simply hadn't performed transmutations as often as he used to in Amestris.
Ed cast his gaze downwards, staring into his lap as he rolled his memories over and over again in his mind, searching for a fuzzy recollection of slapping his palms together and feeling the energy writhe. He clicked his tongue in distaste, overly aware of the sucking feeling on his front teeth.
"...A while ago. Just before I noticed that the voices were from the Gate." Jean frowned, but as a non-alchemist, had no answers.
"I think you should listen to your dream. If what's happening is connected to alchemy, it makes sense to not use it anymore," said Jean, shrugging as he spoke. The rest of the room nodded, some giving quiet, noncommittal hums in agreement.
"No. If I perform a transmutation, then I'll get answers about what's going on a lot faster."
"Brother!" Al pulled tightly on his arm, and the team cast surprised and incredulous stares at the blonde.
"That is reckless, Edward," said Riza. She was tall and imposing in her stiff uniform, but not as much as when he was twelve, and maybe a foot shorter. "You cannot take risks without knowing what the consequences are!"
"I've been studying alchemy and transmuting anything I could get my hands on for almost my entire life! Alchemy isn't a risk for me. It shouldn't be a risk for me!" Ed yelled back at her, the red pit of bubbling frustration rising up the same way it did when he was a military dog.
"Things are different now!" Alphonse pulled his shoulder to force his gold eyes to lock with gray ones. "You weren't being affected like this before! You didn't travel through an artificial Gate without knowing anything about it before!"
"Going through Eckhart's Gate was not my fault! I had to do it!" Ed grimaced, and turned on his brother, holding his bicep with a firm hand to make him listen. "Fuck, you went through it too! That's all the more reason I should transmute! What if all this shit starts happening to you?! You only just got your body back!"
"That doesn't mean that you can just ignore a warning sign and plow through danger anyways!"
"I'm the elder brother – this is my responsibility. It doesn't matter what happens to me so long as you're alri -"
"That is enough!" Roy barked at them, his voice nearly echoing in the corners of the office. He pointed at Ed with a stiff finger. "We only just got you back! Why the hell are you so adamant on handling this by yourself? It's a miracle that you willingly told everyone about this two hours ago! We're here to help you, Edward." He stepped around the desk to harshly grip his shoulders, nearly lifting him and his hands shook from frustration. "Don't go off making half-cocked plans as if it doesn't matter what happens to you because it does. It does matter what happens to you. It matters to your brother. It matter to Winry. It matters to the Team. To Gracia. To Elysia. To Major Armstrong. And it better be obvious that what happens to you matters to me too."
Ed's eyes were wide and shocked, only able to take in the fury that wrenched itself in lines through Roy's skin, and the woven blackness of the eyepatch whose strap parted the shiny hair dusting the edge of his dark eyebrows. He pushed Roy off of himself, scowling when his partner's reprimand bounced and crashed against his skull. With every step thudding in heavy boots, one step sounding more thin and harsh than the other, Ed marched to the door, nearly tearing out the handle as he yanked it open.
"If you have any better suggestions, be sure to let me know," he threw back.
Perhaps they were too stunned to respond, or too upset to argue. Either way, the office was silent as he exited. The door squeaked as it gently closed by itself, singing a small click when it blended its edges with the doorframe. There was no more yelling. No more tense conversation and strategic explanations of an Otherworld that no one else had experienced or remembered. Only the heavy thud of his leather shoes falling on the floorboards, and the mirthful whispers searing their suggestions in the shell of his ear.
.
.
After all was said and done, his bravado had faded fairly quickly. Ed slumped his shoulders and tucked his chin into his collarbone. He was stupid, yelling at Alphonse and Roy like that. He was so stupid. He tapped at the edge of his empty plate with a fork, the clanging silverware sending bits of leftover pasta sauce in every direction.
"God damn it!" He yelled to himself, groaning and smacking the heel of his palm into his head until it rang like a belltower. "I acted like I was fifteen again! Where did all my maturity go?!" He let the top half of his body collapse onto the kitchen table, mumbling muffled complaints and self-criticisms into the varnished wood. He fucked up. He really did. They only wanted to look out for him. Their only crime was giving a flying fuck about whatever happened to an idiot of an alchemist like him.
(Only a fool listens to dreams. Does a boy live in a dream?)
"Shut up," he growled to himself. Pricks of pain creeped in from his temples, the first sign of an oncoming migraine. Every overlapping voice, low and high, harsh and soft, melded together at their edges like a bad puzzle. It was torture simply trying to parse through the sea of whispers.
(Is he a dreamer? I don't know. We know no falsehoods here. Only the Truth.)
It was hard to ignore the giggles and the dashing shapes in the corner of his eye. Foreign shadows crept at the edge of the kitchen cabinets, starting to take the barest shape of a crawling baby as his headache worsened.
"Shut up," he repeated, dropping the fork onto the plate. It clanged loudly, it's ringing noise making him flinch and wince at the sharp pains stabbing through his brain. "I don't want anything to do with the Gate. I don't want to know the Truth. I've had my fucking fill!"
(You already know the Truth, alchemist. What is the Truth? Does he know? One is All. All is One.)
"As above," spoke a voice in his ear, hissing quietly on the S. "What is above?"
"I said shut the fuck up!" The blonde snarled, twisting around on instinct to hurl his plate through a faint shadow that both was and wasn't there. The ceramic dish smashed against the wall behind him, falling to the floor in sharp pieces and white crumbs. The dark figures had dispersed, giggling faintly as the world faded back into reality.
"...Shit," Ed sighed, carefully stepping around the broken plate to pull all the pieces together. It would be an easy fix with alchemy, but after the argument with Alphonse, perhaps it was best to refrain for now. It would be so easy though... Directional arrows to pull the pieces together... The earth symbol to focus on the kaolin in the porcelain... And an inner square to bind the molecules together.
One piece was left: a white and blue striped shard that measured the length of his pinky. He gently placed it on top of the pile of plate pieces, surprised to feel a familiar hum warm his palm. Blue lightning crackled along the edges of each shard, lifting individual pieces to pull them back into the main body of the plate, it's smooth surface warping and then reshaping as it collected itself.
Ed gasped, trying to scramble away as the reaction light blinded him. The reformed plate sat there innocently, dried pasta sauce still crusted onto parts of it as if Ed had eaten on the floor instead of at the table. Golden eyes looked between his hands, his breaths coming in ragged as he tried to spot the difference between himself and who he was before he found this new skill.
"What...? What the hell was that?!" Transmutation at just a touch? No circle. No clap. Was this the consequence that Hughes was talking about? "Hey! What did you do to me?!" His scream reverberated off the kitchenware, bouncing between the cupboards and the sink. The fading hum of alchemic power still surged through his fingertips, spinning and crawling beneath his skin, ready to burst like a thunderstorm.
He had felt like this before... In Lab 5, when he accidentally stepped in the red water and the power seethed. It roared like a lion on the surface of his skin, scraping past his soul like the maw of a beast around his neck, only tight enough to keep him in place. The world was blue and white, the pink atmosphere of the basement room full of prisoners and the two homunculi fading into a luminescent field.
Ed collapsed against the floor, yowling and clutching his head. What was it? What did he feel? His stomach lurched, and he curled up into a tight coil. He was being torn apart. The memory was far away, but he could feel the tip of a sharp blade pry open his middle like down in Dante's opera house.
"No!" Hot tears trailed down his cheeks, burning like molten iron and stinging like ice. "I don't want this. I don't want to be this! Stop it! STOP!"
What did Lust say that day, when his body was buffeted by the winds of unspent energy? First, he transmuted a speargun without trying... It hit the glass tanks behind the slick, dark woman he had aimed for... And then she spoke.
"...This much exposure could turn the boy into a God."
.
.
"Did you know that the early alchemists were actually religious?" asked Alphonse, slapping his own cheeks to keep himself from taking a nap on the study floor. His small nose was buried so far into the thick, dusty book that he didn't bother to look up at his brother. For the past few months, Ed and his brother had gotten really into reading Hohenheim's books in the study while their mom prepped dinner – call it a product of boredom. If they hadn't gotten grounded for fighting over who had to clean Miggy Sheep's pen (a three year-old Alphonse had insisted that the four sheep they had all have the surname 'Sheep') half a year ago, they never would've bothered to take more than a cursory glance inside the dusty room that belonged to an absent man.
"I get thinking of religion as a 'science' in and of itself to explain the world around you – that's how every civilization tried to explain things. But to know that science exists on it's own, and still say that it can't be separated from religion? It's really fascinating!"
"Ya. That's interesting and all," Ed mouthed around an apple slice. "But everyone knows the First Alchemists had a lot of ideas, but not a lot of facts. I guess they got alchemy confused with divinity." Alphonse rolled his eyes, setting the book down on his pale knees. The large covers draped over, gliding across the old floorboards under his bottom.
"The point isn't what they knew, Ed! Well, what they hypothesized is important too... But the point is the development of alchemy philosophy!" Al insisted, shoving the leather tome into his brother's hands. Ed had to hold it with both hands, as the thick stack of pages was just too heavy for a kid to fling around in one hand. "Just because it's history doesn't mean it's boring."
"But this is ancient history! It's just a whole lot of 'maybe's and 'hmm, I don't know's!" Ed groaned, falling onto his back to kick his legs. "The Old Bastard should've gotten a book on Marie Courée instead of a bunch of monks who thought leeches could cure the pox."
Alphonse gave him a look, and tossed a pencil at his head. Ed yelped when it hit him hard on the noggin.
"Fine, I'll read the damn book!" he acquiesced, grumbling as he flattened out the page his brother had dog-eared for him. What passage was Al reading? This was so dense! He started on a random paragraph, frowning as he grudgingly read out loud about alchemists and magicians.
"Were it to be stated in a simple manner,
thee First Alchimists did soe subscribe to a belief-set described as the Wisdom of Three Partes.
Thee Wisdom of Three Partes is as thus:
Thee Sun gave mankind Alchemy,
thee ultimate science to investigate thee spirit, thee life, and thee corporeal existence on earthen land. Thee Stars taught thee First Alchimists of astrology,
wherein thee planets and various stellar configurements allowe symbolic communication with Thee All, or God.
God gave thee Alchimists what had been referred to as Divine Magick,
which allowed Mankind to ally himself with thee power of Thee All and its Aeons.
To bind thee Three Wisdoms the First Alchimists touted the Prisca Theologia, thee Maxim and Creed. "That which is Below concurs with that which is Above, and that which is Above concurs with that which is Below, to accomplish the miracle of the Great Work."
In thee present Year of Our Lord 1644 thee Prisca Theologia is soe summed as a shorter phrase
"As Above, So Below." A similar expression is "One is All, All is One," while it expresses thee same maxim as thee Prisca Theologia, is far more explicit in reference to God."
Ed scoffed and rolled his eyes. He totally understood what this meant. It meant. Well. There was no point in explaining some religious hocus-pocus when it was a pretty fair assumption there were no such thing as "divine essences."
"Reading that was like trying to swim through Mrs. Gilhard's peanut butter!" The little boy groaned, rolling onto his back. "Alchemists are the closest things to God anyways, so let's move onto something a little more practical. What should we make for Winry's birthday present?"
.
.
It bore him no pain, the hole in his chest. Not by itself, at least.
It was dark... but not in the way that your bedroom simply had a lack of light. For one thing, there was nothing to be seen in the darkness. No shaded corners of furniture, no strewn papers to catch the pink-purple light of the transmutation allowing him to see. He wasn't even sure if he could be considered standing, as it felt like gravity had ceased to exist.
But the hole. The hole in his chest. His mouth opened in a silent scream – and it was only then that he realized there was nothing to be heard. Only the quiet, yet deafening ringing that had been rippling through his brain for the past two months. Floating in the endless nothingness, all he could feel was fear and the dizzying sense that he could no longer comprehend his existence. Shaking, he looked down into his own chest, his breaths hiccuping and stuttering even though he could not hear them.
It stared back. An eye opened like a fissure in the earth, wide, and its iris striking. As if he had unlocked Pandora's box, Ed felt like he was exploding with energy, his very cells shrieking in what was, if not physical pain, then the strain of pure alchemic energy, life, memories, and all the things that he was still to stupid to understand the consequences of.
Black, wispy hands reached out from him and into the air. The voices in his head were all around him, striking a cacophony as a scene came into view, and all he could feel was pain – icy and sharp, like he had been flayed and lived to tell the tale.
(Transmute. He's coming. Break him down.)
A man, whose stricken face bore the same tortured eyes that he had as a child, sat past the edge of a glowing line. Ed tried to rub a weak hand against the glowing lines so he could see him, but his hand fell, smacking onto the wooden floor like a rock. See him. What? Who was he, this person not that much older than himself? He tried to ask, but his voice only came out in guttural rasp. Alive, in the body the Alchemist made.
Although he only had one pair of eyes, and one real line of sight, somehow he could see and hear the man screaming, writhing from every angle as his arms fell apart in tiny, inky hands. It was hard to be horrified when you're mind and soul were in pieces, stretched thin across another plane of existence. One part of him laid in the middle of the circle, staring through artificial eyes, half-formed into green globs meant to emulate whoever the alchemist desired to create. The rest of him shivered as the darkness of the Gate was split by the light of it's open door.
"What is Above?" A voice asked, though he wasn't sure if it was talking to him, or to the man. Ed wasn't even entirely sure if it wasn't actually him speaking, either. "What is Above?"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" The man yelled, sobbing as panicking as he stared between his missing arms. A piece of his cheek started to glow, breaking apart into white, holy square like his limbs had before. "Stop it! I don't want knowledge, I don't want the Gate! I only wanted her back! I -" His mouth was gone, and so there was one less voice screaming into Ed's already jumbled mind.
Edward spoke softly to himself.
"It is, as it is, below."
.
.
A/N: I'm finally done with this monstrosity on a one-shot. I could have easily made this a multi-chapter thing, but I really didn't want to draw it out into a long, complicated plot when a one-shot like "Ed becomes the Gate. Shit goes down." is much easier to put together. That last section simultaneously feels like a mindfuck but also like it's under-described. Probably the most difficult part to write seeing as how it takes place in a metaphysical plane where physical entities may or may not actually exist.
REFERENCES:
Hellasian is not a real language, but I'm referring to Greek; Amestris is, after all, in a different universe. Pereese and Sigman are not the real names of the scientists who discovered technetium, as they are from a world different from our own. The real scientists are Perrier and Segre. Marie Courée is a reference to Marie Curie.
I combined a few elements from Brotherhood with 2003, but nothing that would significantly change how the canon events in 2003 occurred. I made the red stone incident in lab 5 count as a time he'd seen the Gate due to his reaction with the unrefined red stone, so I figured that he could possibly have seen it without remembering it or it being depicted in the show. After all, we never really get his reaction to what happened other than that it was absolutely horrible.
Warped/Reversed text:
Can you see me, Ed? It's been a while.
I'm happy for you two.
The original Lust quote is "That's not good. Although it's unrefined, this much exposure to the stone material could turn the boy into a God." From FMA (2003) Episode 22: Created Human.
"As Above, So Below" is the maxim of Hermeticism, which, as far as I can tell, has the earliest reference to Alchemy. Most of the stuff I wrote in the fake book passage is ripped straight from Wikipedia, adjusted slightly for story purposes and written in fake "olde English" for fun.
This story was largely inspired by kirrsty's drawing of Ed as the Gate. Or at least, I think he's the Gate there. Not sure if FFnet lets links in yet so I'll do the thing where they space that out. (kirrsty dot tumblr dot com / post / 102723086623 /) The idea sat in my notepad file until I saw tumblr user obersten's Overexposure AU.