A/N: All right, here's chapter 2. There's some fairly raunchy humor in this one, but it's not entirely my fault. Ok, I lie. It totally is. It's based on some random crap that popped out of my mouth one day when I was sitting at the diner with my friends. I'd had entirely too much coffee and too little sleep, which always leads me to say weird random crap the most famous of which being when I told someone I wanted to club him like a baby seal. I was horrified. He was horrified. Everybody else died from laughing too hard. I have a thing for the etymology (study of the origin of words) of slang terms, and that's what gave birth to the conversation about the word "gay". You'll understand when you get there.

Disclaimer: Yeah, sort of obvious, but I don't own FMA or any of its characters. I'm just a shameless invader pillaging the genius of others for my own jollies.

Chapter 2

Appeasing Vengeful Gods

Roy laughed along with his friends, enjoying the easy companionship between them as they traded jibes and stories around the coffee table. The ready humor and relaxed atmosphere between them made his old friends great company but lousy study buddies. Really, they were a little too relaxed when they should be focusing on their work. They'd all fallen behind thanks to the Ouroboros fiasco, and they had a lot of lost time to make up for if they were going to pass their semester finals. Some of them would be all right, scraping by with a B or so, but not all of them would be able to fake it well enough to save themselves. They needed to get to work.

Some of his companions, Roy had known since high school. Heymans Breda had been on the football team with Roy. He had always been just as round in the middle as he was now, and he had always had the same particolored hair – though, contrary to popular belief, the man had never once dyed or bleached his hair. It was naturally darker at the roots than at the tips, so with his hair cut the way it was, it made him look as if he had only dyed the top red and left the rest brown. Jean Havoc, with his athletic build, blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair, had also been on the football team. In fact, he was attending college now on a football scholarship. Kain Fuery had been on the debate team with Roy. He was small – almost as short and slender as Ed – not that Roy would ever say that to Ed's face. Roy liked his internal organs right where they were, thanks. Kain had black hair, and his dark eyes were mostly hidden behind a pair of thick glasses. He was the cheeriest of their group, and always had an optimistic and innocent air about him, a sort of impenetrable naivety. The last member of their little study group, Vato Falman, hadn't joined their group until they'd started at Central U, but they'd become almost instant friends. His prematurely gray hair, eyes that were too small for his sharp-boned face, and perpetually bland, serious expression made him seem like the oldest of their group, but he was actually the same age as the rest of them.

Roy had two more friends that would be joining them later – his childhood friends Riza Hawkeye and Maes Hughes. Riza was a blonde bombshell with brown eyes the color of fine red wine, but her expression was all but lifeless. It made many feel that she was too cold to approach. Roy knew better. Underneath that cold shell was a very warm individual and very loyal friend. Maes Hughes was, in a word, insane. He had dark hair and bright green eyes behind rectangular framed glasses and had stubble that Roy was hard-pressed to remember him ever being without. Maes was exuberant enough to more than balance Riza's calm. He had a wife and daughter – Gracia and Elysia – who he lavished affection on, and he always carried dozens upon dozens of pictures of them wherever he went, showing them to friends and strangers alike – whether they wanted to see them or not. He was like a photographic terrorist, actually. So far, Ed was the only person Roy had ever met besides Gracia who seemed able to tame Maes's mania. Roy just hoped that Ed got there before Maes did, or the only thing they'd be studying would be the newest pictures of Gracia and Elysia.

Roy's cell phone rang, interrupting the joke Breda had been telling, and Roy excused himself so he could take the call. He was surprised to hear Al's ringtone, and the younger Elric was probably calling because he couldn't reach Ed. No doubt Ed was already loaded down with grocery bags and on his way home, therefore unable to answer his phone. The boys had been through enough terrifying events in their lives that neither of them took unanswered phone calls lightly. There had been too many instances where an unanswered call had meant trouble. "Hey, Al, what's up?" greeted Roy.

"Hi, Roy, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need you to please hurry over to the grocery store and pick up my brother," said Al, sounding extremely uneasy. "I just got off the phone with him and he sounds like he's about to have a panic attack. You're closer than I am or I'd go myself. Just pick him up please, and I'll be at your place as quickly as I can be."

"All right, sure, no problem," said Roy, sounding a lot calmer than he felt. He was already moving toward the door, phone still in his hand. On his way through the house, he called to his guests that he was picking up Ed and would be back in a few minutes. Once he got outside, he asked Al, "So, what happened?"

"He thought he saw somebody who is supposed to still be locked up," answered Alphonse uncomfortably. "It's taken us five years to get Ed over what happened. And I don't even know if he really saw who he thought he saw, but I fully intend to investigate it. If he's just hallucinating then clearly he's under far too much stress right now. It's a sign that he's backsliding. If he really saw this guy then we'll need to contact the police and arrange for Ed's protection. I'll explain more when I get there, and Ed might be willing to tell you some of it. But you know how Brother is, so probably you'll have to hear the story from me."

"Maes is coming over later, and Breda is already at the house. If there's investigating to be done, you know there's none better to help you with it," offered Roy. Breda had a knack for keeping his ear to the ground and always being able to sift through whispers to discern fact from rumor. Data analysis was his specialty, and he was good at applying it to people as well as physics. Maes was the man to go to when you wanted to know something others were trying to hide. There was no such thing as a secret with Maes Hughes around.

"Awesome, that will definitely help," said Al, sounding a little relieved. "I'll see you in a little while. Call me if anything changes before then."

"Roger that," replied Roy, and the pair hung up. As soon as Roy realized how bitterly cold it was outside, he was doubly glad to be picking up Ed. The last thing Edward needed was to be walking home in the cold with armfuls of groceries. If this weird crisis hadn't popped up, Ed never would have thought to call and ask for a ride. It wasn't just because of his hatred of cars. It was because of his pride.

It didn't take Roy long to reach the grocery store, and when he got there he texted Ed to find out where in the store he was. Ed texted back that he was in the foreign foods section, so Roy headed over to meet him. Edward was wearing his usual red hoodie underneath his old black pea coat, and he had the hood pulled up to give him some anonymity. On such a cold autumn night, nobody would think too hard about why he had his hood up, and it would serve to cover his very conspicuous hair. Ed's coloring was somewhat unique. True, there were plenty of other blondes in the world, but Roy had never seen anyone with hair such a vivid tone before. Ed's hair was a silken cascade of burnished gold, his eyes the same vibrant shade of gold as his hair. Even his skin was gold, albeit a muted, pale gold, like sunlight seen through a foggy haze. Add his unique coloring to the fact that every muscle in his small frame was toned and sculpted to perfection, and one could honestly call Edward a work of art.

"Hey there, gorgeous, got everything you need?" asked Roy as he approached, making sure that Ed could hear him before he got close. Ed had a fighter's instincts, and if he was as panicked as Al had suggested, Roy didn't want to startle him and end up with a fist in his face. He'd seen enough people get hit by that fist to know that he didn't want to be on the receiving end of it. Ed looked up, and his eyes were wide as saucers and face even paler than usual. He didn't seem to recognize Roy at first, but after a long moment of waiting during which Roy held his breath and moved no closer, recognition flashed across Ed's eyes followed by a flood of relief. Roy finally closed the distance between them, folding Ed into his arms without a second thought. "Come on, love. We've got a houseful of guests, and no chef to feed the hungry heathens. Apparently my cooking isn't good enough for them anymore. They insist that only your cooking will do."

"Maybe we should start charging them whenever they come over to mooch food off of us," said Ed, his voice a little shaky but close enough to normal that Roy decided not to call him on it.

"Then they'd just dine and dash," pointed out Roy, and Ed let out a short laugh. "Not that Breda couldn't use the exercise." That got a truer laugh from him, and Roy couldn't help but smile to himself. There would be time enough to address what happened once he had Ed home safe. In the meantime, they went through the checkout line then carried the groceries out to the car. Ed got in, though he looked like he'd rather chew broken glass. Then something odd happened. When he got into the car, he immediately checked the backseat, using the screen of his crappy cell phone like a flashlight. When he saw nothing there except the usual mess of fast food wrappers and paper coffee cups, he deflated as if relieved. Putting his phone away, he pulled on his seat belt and tried to look like nothing had happened. He should've known better. Like him, Roy was a scientist. Curiosity was second nature. "Love, when Al called me, he said that you thought you spotted somebody who was supposed to be in jail. Now, I've seen you face down criminals, evil masterminds, rogue mercenaries, enraged professors, and snotty police officers, but not a single one of them has ever induced panic in you – not to my knowledge, anyway. Sure, I've seen you freak out about hospitals, needles, and cars, but that's about it. So, please, tell me, what is it about this may-or-may-not-be-locked-up individual that has you so upset?"

"It's sort of a long story . . ." said Ed, ducking his head so that his face was hidden in the shadows of the car's darkened interior. "It's not anything you ought to hear. It's not like it's something worth worrying about. It's all in the past."

"Ed, if it's something that upsets you then of course it's worth worrying about," insisted Roy gently, half-tempted to pull the car over so that he could wrap his arms around his obviously unhappy lover.

"Look, some fucked up shit happened, and the guy responsible got sent up the river, and his sentence was long enough that he should still be nice and cozy in his padded cell," said Ed, sounding exasperated and weary. "But I saw somebody who looks like him, and my tired mind conjured up something stupid and improbable in response. I'm tired, damn it, and it's been a rough day. I can't be blamed because my brain got all fucking squishy from lack of sleep."

"All right, love, I'll leave it alone for now," promised Roy, slipping that "for now" in there so smoothly that Ed would never notice it.

At the house, Roy's friends were all thrilled by Ed's arrival – and the prospect of Ed's cooking – and they greeted his entrance with enthusiastic cheers. They followed the two lovers into the kitchen, some to chat and others to help put up the groceries. Jean even offered to help get dinner started. Jean Havoc couldn't be trusted to boil water without burning it, but he could cut vegetables like a Cuisinart. Give Jean a kitchen knife and he instantly turned into a samurai. It was the only reason Ed didn't mind letting the man help in the kitchen from time to time. The automail made things like cutting vegetables or bread a lot harder than it strictly needed to be – though for some odd, unknown reason Ed had no problem cutting meat. It was a little disturbing, if Roy was being honest.

"So, when did being 'gay' become synonymous with being 'homosexual'?" asked Ed of nobody in particular as he set the grocery bags down on the kitchen counter. "I mean, the original definition of 'gay' is, you know, happy or cheerful or whatever. So, did everybody used to think that homosexuals were all super happy people? Is, like, sucking dick supposed to be some sort of antidepressant or something? 'Cause, I'm here to tell ya, I've sucked dick on numerous occasions and yet I'm not exactly known for my sunny disposition."

"Dude! TMI!" cried Breda, but Ed just snorted as he began putting groceries away. Fuery worked alongside him, handing things over for Ed to put in their proper places on the shelves and in the refrigerator.

"What else am I supposed to do with, have a fucking staring contest? Hope that if I stare at it long enough it'll do tricks?" asked Ed noncommittally. "Trust me, the only trick I've ever seen a dick do is twitch really fucking hard, and as hilarious as that was, it wasn't exactly high-class entertainment."

"What's brought on this weird conversational topic?" asked Roy through his laughter. The other men in the room – all of whom were straight – tried to look disgusted, but . . . they were men. Of course they'd laugh. It was practically a biological imperative for men to find dick jokes funny.

"I ran across this little old lady who used to live next door to us when we were still living with Teacher," replied Ed with a shrug, closing the fridge door before returning to the bags on the counter. "She's really batty, ya know – the old lady, not my teacher? She used to think that thespians were girls who liked to kiss other girls, and that when people said I was gay they meant I was in a really good mood. I never bothered correcting her. Her hearing's bad, so she'd only hear about half of the explanation, and what little she did hear would probably give her heart failure."

"Oh dear God, that's comedy gold!" guffawed Breda.

"Me and Al always thought so too," snickered Ed. "Whenever we got bored but had to stick close to the house, we'd go over to her house and offer to help with the chores just so we could listen to the batty old lady talk. Who needs TV when you've got batty ladies? Oh, and then there were Teacher and Sig. Teacher is so closet bipolar, and Sig is secretly into cute and fluffy things. Plus there were all of their crazy ass friends, like Mason and Garfiel. You've met Mason, but Garfiel is, like, seriously, the gayest man I know, but he's built like a fucking tank. You'd swear he was drag queen or something, he's so fucking froo-froo, but he's an automail mechanic – one of the best in the business next to Pinako. Seriously, every time I talk to him, I feel all my masculinity just fucking drain away. Next thing you know, I've got my pinky out and I'm crossing legs like a hooker. I've seen the same thing happen to straight men. Just something about him makes others gay by osmosis. Talk about enter-fucking-tainment! I like taking him to places where a lot of big burly men hang out just to watch them go fluffy at the edges. Not even Sig is immune."

"I kinda want to meet him, and at the same time I kinda want to stay on the other side of the planet from him," mused Jean, and Ed laughed warmly. Ed had a laugh that was so full of life and vibrancy that it could literally brighten a whole room. As soon as Ed started laughing, all the faces around him would instantly brighten, any fatigue or bad moods or rotten circumstances forgotten as those around him basked in the glow of that vivacious sound. It was one of the many reasons that all of Roy's associates – his friends, his research team, his foster mom and all of her employees – loved Ed fiercely, because having him around was like sitting down in front of a fireplace on a cold winter night, warm and inviting and so worth the wait.

Once Ed and Jean started fixing dinner, everybody else vacated the kitchen to return to their studying – though Jean did come get one of his school books so Ed could help him study while they cooked. It wasn't too long after that when Al showed up, along with a fairly worried Hohenheim. Ed and Al's father, Hohenheim, tended to be a fairly enigmatic individual at the best of times, so the fact that his worry was showing on the surface now was significant. "Is that you, Al?" called Ed from the kitchen.

"Hey, Brother! Is that stew I smell?" replied Al.

"Nope, it's something better. I've got my hands full, but I'll be out there in a minute to jaw with you," Ed called back. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"No, Dad and I were about to go grab a bite to eat, but after I got your call I wanted to stop by here first to check on you," answered Al. That was enough to get Ed to poke his head out of the kitchen. Upon spotting his father, Ed scowled and harrumphed then returned to the kitchen without a word. No one paid much mind to Ed's displeasure at his father's presence. It was business as usual, after all.

"Nonsense, you'll eat here. There's plenty," declared Ed from the kitchen, and there was no arguing with him when he used that tone. Al and Hohenheim simply exchanged a look then shrugged to each other. Not even Hohenheim would dare countermand an Ed who was in a huff.

Despite Ed's hatred of Hohenheim, he looked so much like him it was eerie – especially when Ed wore his reading glasses which were almost exactly the same as Hohenheim's oval-shaped frames. It was from Hohenheim that Ed had inherited his coloring, the gold of his eyes, hair, and skin the exact same as his father. The difference was in their body types. Hohenheim was broader built – and definitely taller – than Edward who was well-muscled but slender and shorter than the average male. Alphonse, on the other hand, was built like his father but had his mother's coloring – golden brown hair and gray-green eyes – and he had also inherited her smile. Seeing them together, people who didn't know the brothers often mistook Al for the older one. Just one of many reasons Ed hated being so short – and expressed that hatred rather violently more often than not. People only ever mistook him for the younger brother once.

"Roy, I need to talk to you privately," said Al softly – likely so that Ed wouldn't hear. Roy jerked his chin to the unused study on the other side of the parlor. Since he had a library on the second floor, he mostly used the study for storage, but lately he'd been cleaning it out so that Ed would have his own private space to put his books and academic detritus. Hohenheim followed them into the study, and closed the door behind them, leaning against it and keeping his head tilted toward it as if listening for approaching intruders. "All right, I promised you two an explanation, but I'll have to keep this brief for obvious reasons," began Al as he hitched himself up to sit on an uncluttered portion of the cluttered desk. He was fidgeting and very clearly unhappy, which was worrisome all on its own. "Five years ago, when Ed was seventeen, he was living here with Mason. He was paranoid thanks to everything that had happened to us already, so he wasn't really able to make any friends. He was working on a double-major too, so he didn't really have a lot of time to spare anyway. Winry and I were still in high school, and Izumi and Sig hadn't moved here yet either, so he was entirely on his own.

"So, some guy approached Ed, trying to be friends with him. Ed refused to let him get closer than being an acquaintance at school. He would occasionally sit with him in class and have lunch with him in the student union every now and then when there was no time to go elsewhere, but that's it. What Ed didn't know was that this man wasn't entirely well-hinged. Come to find out, the man had a mental disorder – erotomania, the delusion that someone, usually a celebrity or somebody you admire, holds romantic feelings for you. He also had severe monomania, and became entirely fixated on Ed. Eventually, Ed tried to get a restraining order, but nobody wanted to listen to him. They all thought that he was just playing a prank or that he was being too paranoid because he was on his own so young. The whole thing stressed him out so bad, he had to drop one of his majors and take a semester off.

"This didn't sit well with his stalker. One day, Ed went out to do a favor for one of the neighbors, but he never came home. The police didn't even bother looking for him very hard, figuring he had run away. When prodigies show signs of stress, everybody assumes that they've just broken under the strain of being a prodigy and disregard any other cause. Everybody thought he'd snapped and run off. Needless to say, such was not the case for Izumi, Sig, and I. We knew better. We knew something had to have happened. Mason even scoured Central City for him, but none of us had any luck. He was gone for a week before he turned up again. He'd been kidnapped, just like we thought, but he managed to beat the guy down and save himself. He was a mess. He was bloody and bruised, and heaven only knows what else. He won't tell anybody what happened, and that part of the court record has been sealed by the court, and Brother himself put in safe guards so no one can access that information. I have my suspicions, but I don't want to share speculations about something so sensitive without any concrete proof to back my theories. This incident is the reason Ed only lets a select few people touch him, and it took a couple years for even that much of a concession."

"What was this guy's name?" asked Roy, his calm tone strained at the edges as horror clawed at his gut.

"Robert Booker," annunciated Al as if he was naming off the chemical composition of vomit. "Me and Teacher and Sig made damn sure that no evidence was overlooked. We made sure that not even the best lawyer in the universe would be able to help that bastard walk. We made sure he would be convicted, and that his sentence would be the longest one possible. We were taking no chances. So, yes, Booker should still be in prison. He shouldn't get out for at least a couple more decades – or longer. Does it make me a terrible person that I keep hoping he'll commit suicide or get shived by his cell mate?"

"Not at all," Roy reassured him, his thoughts along similar lines. "But I might be, since I was thinking I might actually make a phone call to ensure that it happens. I have many less than savory contacts . . . but I know Ed would likely strangle me to death for it then resurrect me to strangle me again. So, I'll refrain – for now."

"Alphonse, quit jabbering about shit that isn't anybody else's business and get your ass up here before I feed your share to the dogs!" shouted Ed through the door. Al hurriedly opened the door only to stop short in the doorway.

"Wait, you don't have any dogs," said Al, all at once puzzled. That's when Roy's lab team started barking and howling and panting with their tongues lolling out. "Ah, good point."

"This is what happens when you forget to feed them in the morning," said Roy, patting Jean on the head on he walked by. "Next thing you know they'll be humping the neighbors' legs and chasing the mailman."

"I'm a first time pet owner," said Ed with a shrug. "So sue me." Roy laughed and placed a kiss on Ed's cheek, earning himself and grin. Then Ed's expression changed as he turned a piercing stare toward his father. "You! There's a place set for you, so you might as well fucking sit. But I'm only feeding you because Al would stop talking to me again if I made you watch everybody else eat. But even if the food sucks, I don't want to hear one fucking word out of critique out of you. Now sit."

"Woof," said Hohenheim with a shrug, and the rest of them laughed as they took their seats.

As usual, Ed had whipped up an impressive spread. There were freshly steamed vegetable, pasta tossed with butter and fresh garlic, and breaded chicken covered in white wine sauce. "Have you been binge-reading cookbooks again, Brother?" asked Al with a fondly teasing smile.

"Not quite," said Ed, setting down a basket of fresh rolls before sitting down to dish up his own portion. "One of the girls taking my Computational Chemistry class is actually studying molecular gastronomy – you know, the study of flavor on a molecular level. She's already a sous-chef at some fancy restaurant downtown. We got to chatting, and I had her recite off some of her favorite quick-and-easy recipes. She said that the recipes she gave me aren't on the level of molecular gastronomy, but that they're what she makes when she's too busy cramming for finals to spend all day puttering around in the kitchen. In exchange I gave her a couple of my dessert recipes and some tricks for perfect pie crust from scratch, since she said she sucks at dessert and can't make a pie crust for shit. We promised to meet up this weekend along with a couple of her equally hopeless culinary arts study-buddies. They're all gonna bring some recipes for my arsenal, and in exchange I'll teach them how to make desserts. It's equivalent, so whatever."

"Are we still on for tomorrow?" asked Al, his smile not even twitching, but his eyes growing sad.

"Of course," said Ed, the same sad smile painted on his face. "I wouldn't miss it. All of my classes have subs coming in, and Paninya knows better than to put me on the schedule at the diner. I've got a thing at the crack of dawn, but that won't go for long. I'll have plenty of time to get everything we need. I'm assuming you're coming too old man."

"Naturally, Edward," said Hohenheim with a soft sigh. "It's long overdue, in fact."

"Then I'll pack enough for you too," said Ed, approving and grudging all in the same breath. "So, it'll be Izumi and Sig, Winry and Al, Pinako, you, and me, so seven altogether. But you're buying your own fucking flowers, old man. I can barely afford enough for me and Al. This ain't prom and I ain't your date, so you get to pull out your own damn wallet."

"What's going on tomorrow?" asked Roy, growing more curious with every dropped comment.

"Tomorrow is October 3rd," answered Ed unhelpfully.

"And what's that when it's at home?" asked Roy.

Since Ed had left to retrieve dessert, Al was the one that answered. "It's the anniversary of the day our mother died."