Ohka Breynekai: I am very ashamed with you. That excellent chapter, and not ONE STINKIN' REVIEW!! Dandelion says "REVIEW or we will sic Elmo on you." And we all know how THAT works. If not, read Poup by Ayumi Elric. waves Hi Ayumi! :D

Shenhua: I'm going to be the nice one here since you are already getting threatened by everyone else... Sorry about that. Well, not completely sorry, but ya know. We would greatly appreciate reviews, however. CHAPTER TWO IS UP!! Oh, well you probably know that judging as how you are reading this, huh? OH WELL! READ IT!!

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist belongs to Hiromu Arakawa. Not us, not you, and thankfully not Ed.

Pshh... Disclaimers suck.


Chapter Two: Boxers -- Dog or Cloth?

Ashley

The world is nothing and I am no one. For a brief instant, I do not exist. The next thing I know, I am falling. The cold cobblestones scratch my forearms that I throw out on instinct to protect my face.

Why do I feel so strange? I wonder. The cobblestones are not only freezing my arms but also my legs and… Ah! In that instant, I notice that there is nothing separating my body from the cobblestones -- no familiar cloth barrier. I push myself up quickly and look to my left. There lies an extremely muscular man with a huge 'X' shaped scar across his face. I look up and discern that we are in a ramshackle tent of sorts. Mary is huddled in the corner, failing horribly at her attempt to cover her naked body while still keeping an eye out for the stranger. I waste no time in slipping the man's jacket slowly off of him and wrapping it around my own nude self.

Afterwards, feeling a bit better being clothed and remembering Mary, I begin silently unbuttoning the man's shirt for her to wear. His chest is surprisingly smooth - not hairy in the least. I start to gently peel the sleeve off of his right arm but stop suddenly to gawk. Intricate waves of black ink stretch over the hardened brown muscles of his arm. It's a tattoo, I am sure, but it almost seems to mean something; to serve more of a purpose than just a regular decoration. It's something about the way he wears it with such utter confidence, even in his sleep.

This is not a guy you want to mess with, my brain warns me quickly, and I know that the sooner I get out of here, the better. I quickly grab the other sleeve, yanking it off his arm and pulling the shirt out from under him, amazed at what a heavy sleeper he is. I wad up the shirt and hurl it at Mary with nothing but a rushed "here" escaping my lips.

She gives me a look of utmost confusion, looking from me to the man, and then seems almost angry. She pulls on the shirt in spite of her anger, however, and I start looking for the exit.

Lifting the flap of the tent, I peer out only to see a gray brick wall looming ahead of me. An alley, I tell myself, still haunted by the question in the back of my mind: How the heck did we get here? Wait… where is here? Where was I to begin with?

I resolve to figure that out later – once we are past the threat of the scarred man. I motion for Mary to follow me, finally catching her attention. She timidly approaches me, nervously flattening the oversized shirt. Thinking we have no time to waste, I grab her arm and basically drag her out of the alley. I hear her attempts at asking questions but don't even pay attention to what she is saying. I can feel my adrenaline pumping. It prompts me to act, rather than worry about talking or even trying to figure out where the heck I came from and all that jazz. I can think about all of that later. Right now the important thing is – Wait, what is the important thing?

Food, clothing, shelter, my mind immediately responds as if I've been asked the question all my life. Okay, so food? Not hungry. Clothing? Barely. Shelter? Ah hah! That's what I'm after! For doesn't food and clothing come along with shelter? All I can do is hope.

I'm nearly running down the sidewalk now, completely unsure of what exactly it is that I'm looking for. I stop short in front of a building that seems to appear out of nowhere. A sign? my brain questions, but I have little time to ponder that.

Mary and I stare at the strange building. It seems to be an apartment complex of some kind.

"Should we go in?" Mary asks quietly.

"No sense in staying out here," I reply, feeling more and more uncomfortable with each moment of wearing nothing but a stranger's jacket. "I mean, no time like the present, right?"

Mary gazes at me uncertainly but follows as I head for the building. It's cooler inside and I instantly draw the jacket closer. All I can hope is that we can find some clothes or money or anything in here to help us out. I say a silent prayer and instantly start up the stairs. Mary follows, her arms across her chest to keep the stolen shirt closed tight.

When we reach the top of the stairs, I go down the hall a bit and stop to look at the door to my left. It is not necessarily special or in any way different than all the other doors in the hallway, other than that I feel pulled towards it. Not wishing to draw any attention to ourselves, I cautiously attempt to open the door rather than knocking. To my surprise, the knob turns and the door mercifully grants us entry.

I sidle in and gently close the door behind Mary. The room isn't much, but at least there's a sofa.

"Hello…?" I call out tentatively. "Anyone home?"

"I don't think anyone's here," Mary whispers. "Maybe we should go."

"Don't be silly," I say much more bravely than I feel. "Let's just see if we can find some clothes first."

You're the one being silly, my mind scolds. Just listen to Mary and leave. There's no telling who lives here or what kind of trouble you'll get in when they find you.

Oh, shut up, the other half of my brain argues. Just let her do what she wants. I mean, you might as well because she'll end up doing what she wants anyways.

Both of you shut up! I feel like saying, but I've got to stop arguing with myself if I ever want to get some clothes.

I head towards a door at the side of the room and walk in. It turns out to be a bedroom with two beds and a dresser. I race to the dresser and begin looking through the drawers. Mary gapes at me with disbelief.

"Are you insane?"

I ignore her as I hold up some tight, black pants to myself. I can't believe it. They are too short for even me. "Who lives here, a dwarf?" I remark as I continue rummaging through the drawers. "Ah hah!" I say, finding some boxers that I may have a small possibility of squeezing into.

I stick my legs through the leg holes and begin jerking them up my legs until they finally reach my hips. I'm shocked but glad that they actually fit and find another pair that I throw at Mary.

"Here, put these on."

"Now I know you're insane! We don't even know these people and you're putting on their underwear!"

I shrug, "Better than nothing, I guess. And who are you to talk? You're wearing a complete stranger's shirt!"

"At least I actually saw him…" Mary mutters as if that made everything okay, but she pulls on the boxers anyways.

While rummaging for a shirt, I hear the front door slam closed.

Busted! My mind seems to be saying. I curse silently and look expectantly at the door to the bedroom, knowing there is no time to hide now. Sure enough, a short, blonde-haired boy appears in the doorway before I have time to even attempt to move.

"What the --" I hear him say, right before I fall to my knees, clutching at my throat and wondering why, of all times, I had to get the worst asthma attack I've ever had at this particular moment. I don't have much time to wonder this, however, because my lack of breathing has caused everything around me to go a hazy black. I think I hear the faint sound of an almost melodic voice saying, "You killed her, Brother!" But I cannot be sure, for everything else seems to dissolve into the same hazy black oblivion.

Mary

I stare in horror as Ashley falls to the ground, gasping grotesquely for oxygen. The words 'asthma attack' flash across my mind, only sparking more trembles from my muscles.

The large armored man and his miniature acquaintance, the two people whose home we had invaded, are panicking beside me. The tall one screams something about the other one killing Ashley, and the accused is yelling mindlessly, blaming this all on Ashley. Each sentence they spew beats against my already struggling brain.

My movements are as through water, my limbs floating and moving in slow motion as I bend down by my friend. Steam, my mind tells me. Her muscles are contracting or something; you have to make them relax so she can breathe again.

"Hey," I croak, but the others are freaking out so much that they don't hear my weak address. "Hey!" I yell at them, finally grabbing their attentions. I grab onto Ashley's arms desperately. "Help me carry her into the bathroom."

The armored man immediately rushes to my aid, lifting Ashley easily into his arms, no need for my assistance. He hurries quickly in the direction of what I hope is the bathroom; I am at his heels.

"Call 911!" I call to the blonde boy over my shoulder.

"Call what?" he sputters.

"The doctor!" I clarify, wondering how dense this person is. I can only hope again that he'll follow my instructions. So much being placed on hope tonight.

We reach the room in mere seconds, where the man lays Ashley gently on the floor. "Thanks," I nod at him, shakily plugging up the tub and twisting the hot water knob. "Now out, please," I command weakly. The little bathroom was already hard to maneuver in without his heaping mass of steel protection taking up more space.

"O-okay," he says and complies quickly. I slam the door shut behind him.

Now without the audience, tears fill my eyes as I lean over my friend. It takes too much time for the steam to fill the room, so much that I stuff towels into the cracks of the doors and windows to keep any of it from escaping. I run water through the sink for good measure. For one second I wonder if CPR would do any good, but then, would it be smart to force air through a contracted airway, if that is even the case? I don't know enough! How was I to be sure that steam was even the right answer? Please, doctor, hurry! Please, God, get the doctor here! Let her be okay!

I don't know what I stare at the most – Ashley's face or the door. The room begins to fog and become sticky with moisture. Ashley's breathing grows less intense, which could be one of two things – either she was dying or getting better. I pray again for the latter, and cry harder at the thought of the prior.

Ashley's eyelids suddenly blink, and she coughs roughly. "Oh!" I cry, saltwater rushing down my face. Her face twists in confusion; she opens her mouth to speak but coughs instead. I frown with overwhelming emotion, a mixture of relief and increased fear. "Are you okay?" I blurt.

Another cough plus a look that says 'Are you really asking that question?' is my reply.

"There's a doctor on the way," I tell her reassuringly. I think…

"Good," she croaks out, choking again on the air.

I hear the sharp rap of a fist on wood somewhere nearby. My heart leaps in its cavity. "It sounds like he's here," I tell her slowly, wiping the tears from my cheeks. And then I begin worrying about all sorts of things, such as if I should move Ashley to the living room, or if I had somehow made Ashley's condition worse by bringing her here. But wait, she's no longer unconscious, I tell myself. I must've done something right.

The armored man comes to the door of the bathroom and opens it slightly. He acts surprised by something, the steam or maybe the fact that Ashley is awake. "Hey, uh, the doctor's here."

"Uh-huh," I say. "Do we need to move her again?"

"I think," he replies, as bewildered at the situation as I am.

"Wait, where am I going?" Ashley questions roughly.

"To the doctor," I reply and step outside to let the man pass through. He scoops Ashley into his arms once more and starts off towards the front of the apartment.

Back in the "living room" – an area fused with a kitchen space and dining room – a short old man with fluffy gray hair and eyes squinted behind thick glasses stands with a briefcase. The armored man lays Ashley on the wilted red sofa in the center of the room and backs away. I see the blonde boy again, whose face is an odd shade of red and arms are crossed tightly over his chest. I now have a moment to take a closer look at him, not faced with the fear of being caught trespassing (no matter how unwilling I was to be here) or frantically trying to save Ashley. She is in the doctor's care, who already has his stethoscope pressed against her back. I try to ignore how little covering that scarred man's jacket is providing her at this moment.

No, I concentrate on this oddly colored little boy dwarfed beside a man in a seven foot tall suit of steel armor. What a pair they made! The boy is very slight, no more than 60 inches in height, with bright golden hair and eyes to match the color. He is dressed in a black shirt and pants underneath a long red jacket and is wearing white gloves. On his feet are a pair of sturdy black boots. At first glance, I might guess his age at twelve, but there is a look in his eyes that suggests an infinity of experience hiding behind them. He is surely much older than he appears.

I wonder if the armored man is his father, and then remember that the larger one had called the boy "Brother". And that was another thing to ponder over – what a voice the armored man had! It was so light and it rang like a silver bell on Christmas Eve! It was a voice that belonged to a cherub, not an imposing body decked out with spikes and horns. What must he look like under all of that?

My attention flicks back to the doctor and Ashley when the doctor pulls something from his briefcase and gently places it into her mouth. An inhaler, my mind tells me. She inhales deeply and holds her breath, though barely able to due to the coughs that still racked her body.

"Use this every time your lungs feel strained," he tells her, setting the small plastic object in the palm of Ashley's hand. He turns to me, smiling. "That was quick thinking, with the steam."

I grin back at him, blushing profusely, and mutter something incomprehensible. His eyes flit to a point beneath my face, before he ducks down to scribble something onto a sheet of yellow paper. Huh? I follow his gaze and realize terribly that the stolen oversized shirt has slipped down, revealing most of my left breast…

Holy…! I rip the shirt back up and secure it over everything that might be wanting to show. I look around frantically and try to discern who had seen that slip. No one is looking at me, almost purposefully. Scratch that, Ashley is looking at me, inhaler clenched in one hand, not bothering to stifle her cough-mixed laughter. I just saved your life… traitor. My body burns with heat; I must be the color of that boy's jacket, or a beat, or maybe a beat splattered against the jacket.

Tears burn at my eyes; I glare at the floor, ashamed.

The doctor clears his throat. "Here's the bill," he states, placing it on the coffee table in front of one snickering Ashley.

"Thank you," the armored man trills joyously. The doctor nods his fluffy, speckled head and takes his leave.

The four of us exist for a few seconds in awkward silence, accompanied only by Ashley's wheeze-laugh. Would you shut up already?

The boy suddenly stomps his foot on the floorboards, turning all of the room's attention to him. "Okay… so can you possibly tell me… what the hell is going on here?" I flinch at his tone and again curse Ashley for dragging me in here. Maybe everything is her fault, even the asthma attack… no, that's silly.

"Well, I've just suffered a near-death experience, which you considerately saved me from by buying me this fancy-schmancy inhaler. Boy, this must have cost a pretty penny!" Wow, two inches from death and already spunky again.

The boy jabs a finger at the metal device. "You're paying for that!"

"With what?" Ashley spreads her arms apart to show off her lack of personal belongings. "Do I look like I have any money?"

One side of the blonde's face twitches angrily. "Never mind that! What are you doing here? Why were you going through my underwear?" He is exceptionally appalled at this last action of ours.

"We needed clothes," Ashley croaks out simply, smiling innocently.

"And you think that's an excuse to steal from us?" he growls. The boy's shoulders rise menacingly; it seems like he's about to explode again. His head snaps in my direction, eyes casting me over, measuring me, and it snaps back to Ashley. But in that one instant glance, I can sense a myriad of thoughts, insult and fury among the top ten. My eyes fill with hot, ashamed tears, much different than the earlier moisture. It's not my fault, I want to say. My mouth is cloyed, my tongue swollen. It's not my fault.

This evening is too much for me; appearing nude in a strange city, breaking the law, nearly losing my best friend… A sob escapes my lips.

"Ed," the armored man chides.

"Are you crying?" the blonde gawks at me. I sob again, losing my composure, and turn tail for the bathroom. I can hear Ashley's worried voice calling after me but I ignore it. I slam the door closed behind my back and lock it tightly.

I slide to the floor, curling up against the cool, still-wet wood of the door, determined to hide from the world until they stop fighting.

No more yelling… no more yelling…