Chapter 2

The following day left Once feeling lonely, isolated and worst of all: horrendously bored. He'd knitted, read, slept and attempted to write songs without his guitar but all of this only entertained him until lunchtime, at which point the crushing feeling of having nothing to do settled in fully. He was under strict commands to stay in bed for at least a few days from both Greed and his doctor, but with Greed working and no-one around to entertain him, Once was beginning to consider breaking the rules for at least an hour.

Once found himself thinking back to the last time he had been forced under the covers of a bed and instructed not to move. He'd been seven years old, and had a bad case of pneumonia. He had wasted away most of his time sleeping, being talked at (not to, at) by his brothers when they clambered into the small room to irritate him, or playing quietly with his favourite stuffed toy, Brain. It had been a fairly relaxing week: slow, devoid of chores and as much time to play with stuffed teddies as a young boy could need. Once chuckled aloud to himself at how different the situation was now.

Now he lay alone in a large, luxurious bed. He had no irritating brothers to listen to, no stuffed toys with peculiar names and no desire to sleep at all. The only thing he wanted to do more than anything was to get out of this bed and take a walk. Maybe to the forest, if he could get away with it.

The doctor was coming before the end of the day with crutches of some sort which were taking a long time because Greed had ordered that they be the exact right height for Once straight away, with no need for any sort of adjustments ("Really? That's a bit far." "Shut up, Oncie. Did anyone ask for your opinion?"), and even then he wasn't allowed to use them until the following morning. Once let out a huff and crossed his arms.

With all of the painkillers he was dosed up with, he couldn't really feel any pain... or, come to think of it, anything at all. From the waist down there was just a comfortable numbness of both legs which completely hid any signs of discomfort. Once tried pinching all the way from his toes to his belly-button and found that the safety blanket was fairly thin round where he'd actually broken his leg. Huh. 'Local anaesthetic' my ass.

So with no pain, two fully-functioning, beautifully hand-crafted thneeds, one finished book and sixteen sheets of paper covered in scribbled over music notes, words and doodles, Once decided to give up his efforts to entertain himself and stare at a spot on the ceiling.


There was approximately two hundred and forty pounds worth of equipment necessary for binding the thneeds together laying in a crumpled heap on Greed's desk. He took a long drag of his cigar and blew out the smoke for the duration of five seconds as he let the two men in front of him cower in fear: well-placed fear. Greed was staring at them now, a small smile gracing his features.

"Just, fell down the stairs?" he finally said. The shorter of the two men was sporting an impressive shiner around his eye and seemed to have some sort of plaster over the above eyebrow. He nodded quickly.

"Yes, sir. The phone m-"

"-Made you jump, yes. Well, gentlemen, we seem to have a problem on our hands." Greed rose from his chair slowly and placed a hand on each man's shoulder. He put on a mask of over-exaggerated sympathy before leaning in closely. "You have the generous deadline of day-break tomorrow to reimburse the money or you're fired. Understood?"

More nods. The business-man straightened fully and clapped his hands together so that they were clasped in front of his chest. A vein had popped on the second man's forehead.

"Good," he beamed. "Well, I'm sure you have other places to be. Don't let me keep you here any longer. Oh, and you-" he pointed at the battered-up one. "-watch your footing. Neither of us want to be suffering the repercussions of a broken limb."

The two bustled out of the door immediately, with almost in-human speed. Greed sighed loudly and collapsed into his large swivel chair. He absent-mindedly spun it around a little before prodding at the remains of machinery on his desk. He was a fair employer. Considerate and realistic, but harsh when he needed to be. Two hundred and forty pounds is not a small sum. Well, he has more valuable things under his care, but that doesn't mean anything! Money is money, and it all matters.

A little beep interrupted his own thoughts. He looked up to the clock and breathed out an almost inaudible sigh of pleasure. He closed his Folder of Incidents, put his pen in his breast pocket, covered the broken machinery in a plastic film, tucked his chair under his desk then adjusted his tie. Perfect.

As he left, he made sure to switch off the light and lock the door, as he did every time he left his office. When he passed the reception area he noticed that the lady manning the station was devoid of the glasses she usually wore and was searching for them desperately. They sat on the counter just out of her reach. A small part of Greed wanted to give them to her, but eventually the overwhelming majority of instincts won the tiny battle and he flicked them to the floor. He smirked knowing that she'd be searching for them for hours. Fair employers can have fun too, after all.

As he approached his front door, Greed grew slightly apprehensive (although he'd never admit it) at the idea of treading into unknown territory. Beyond that door sat Once. Just Once was fine. Just Once was familiar, manageable and definitely not something to be nervous about. But Once with a broken leg? Different story. For this reason, Greed took a short moment to catch himself before swinging open the door in his usual dramatic manner.

"I have had the worst day, Oncie. How the fuck do people even -" Greed cut himself off. Was Once...? Or was he just...? Greed stalked over to the bed (quicker than he'd care to confess) and watched the younger carefully. Where were the intakes? The rise and fall of his chest? Panic began rising in his chest, swarming and churning and bubbling up to his throat in a way that made his eyes sting. Greed's fingers itched to shake at his younger counterpart's shoulders, but he stopped when Once's eyes opened groggily.

He let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. At that moment Greed knew he would not be returning to work the following day.

"Greed? Y-you're back early," Once murmured. Greed could see his younger self trying hard to force his eyes open fully, but the stubborn little orifices were putting up a damn good fight. He ignored the live struggle in front of him in favour of placing all of his energy into making sure his voice didn't break when he replied.

"Crutches, remember? You eaten?"

"Not since lunch."

"And what was lunch today? Something vile and overly-savoury, no doubt."

"Don't be mean! She's a good enough cook. Besides, how can something be overly-savoury? Either it is or it isn't," Once huffed out.

"No, there's a scale. Overly-savoury, palatable savoury, sweet, extra sweet, your pancakes."

"Wow, there must be a whole bunch of things in that 'my pancakes' category."

"There are, trust me. Usually all things made by you." At this point Greed took off his sunglasses and rolled up his shirt sleeves, having already disrobed his coat and hat at the door. He took the small container of pills by the bed side and read the instructions for what seemed like the millionth time. One blue, one oblong white one and one kind-of flat white one. "You had these for the evening yet?"

"Um, nope." Greed tipped the three requested pills onto his palm and went to the kitchen to get a fresh glass of water. He felt like such a fucking skivvy! It was even more irritating when he realised that it was optional, self-induced 'skivviness' that was causing him to run about like Once's slave. He returned with the water and offered both the medication and the drink to the now-sitting Onceler.

"Here," he explained. Once nodded and gushed a little about his thanks before Greed cut him off, then he took the tablets and downed them each individually. When he was done Greed asked him what he'd spent his day doing.

"If I told you, you wouldn't like it," Once decided aloud.

"Don't think you know what I like and don't like," Greed responded in his usual harsh tone. He flicked his tongue a little as he spoke. (It was a fairly old habit, developed when Greed first entered business and found himself thrown into many unusual positions.)

"Sorry," Once whispered. Greed sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Well I had to go down to the filing rooms today because I needed my Folder of Incidents. Again. Fourth time this year." Greed sat down next to Once on the bed, knees bent at forty five degree angles so that he could rest his arms on them haphazardly. His other half had his legs outstretched under the covers with his arms crossed over his tummy. His deep black hair was tousled at the ends and sticking about in awkward directions, and Greed had to resist the urge to touch the soft wisps.

"Was it those delivery guys again?" A nod from the business-man. "I'll go talk to them. Wilpten's mother died just last month so I think that's why his work is... uh... lacking? Yeah, lacking."

Greed muttered something about work being work and family being family and was about to expand his point into a full blown rant about keeping personal lives out of business before a soft knock drifted around the room.