The Silent Heart
Chapter Three
Guten Tag
- mirage -
Hohenheim was an early riser and at four, with the lighting still dim, and not a thought to his own morning routine, he went directly to check on Ed.
Edward was exactly where he was left. Deep in sleep and drooling Ed didn't so much as twitch when Hohenheim rested a hand on his forehead. Ed's color was still rather ghastly, but he looked tranquil and this was an improvement. Feeling modestly reassured Hohenheim left to care for himself and at five, with Ed still snoring, he snuck from the apartment in search of breakfast.
Christopher's door was directly across the hall and often left open for ventilation. With the sound of Hohenheim's exit a sleep deprived glass maker looked up from his workbench and broke a happy carefree smile. "So, how'd it go?" Chris asked, pulling a fat glove off his right hand and smacking the glass dust off his heavy apron.
Hohenheim passed Christopher's door for the stairs. "We didn't speak much, Chris. It was late."
Chris followed eagerly. "Didn't speak much? I thought you hadn't seen him in a long time. I thought you'd probably be fatigued from all-night reminiscing."
Early morning hours were the best in the first floor bakery. The air was saturated with the smell of the flour, yeast, and sugar. Hot berries carried an intense and natural sweetness into the air that lingered and smelled of sweet German sugar pastries. Hohenheim looked over the fresh muffins with mild interest. Nothing in particular called to his pallet.
Chris talked as he browsed, and no one in the shop paid Chris any mind. There was but one small girl in the back to mix dough and several other customers purchasing breads and common pastries. The bakery was incredibly well known to the community and had its own morning ecosystem of routines. Of those included the widow from two buildings up buying Schwarzbrot every morning, Hohenheim's impulsive presence when the need for breakfast took him, and Christopher's good natured morning chatter. Chris was a regular visitor, as the bakery was a social outlet, but not a regular customer thanks to Germany's worsening economy.
The city was alive by five and the large bakery windows framed a busy street full of cars and people. The shop was located just before the fourth main intersection so the front walk was very hectic. Sandwiched about a combination of small stories and urban apartments housing more occupants than advisable, everything from food to medicine was easily in reach. This part of Germany still made it easy to get lost, and Hohenheim took solace in this. He was well known and well respected because he had lived long enough to master all forms of chivalry and many trades. Deliberately he has crafted a talent of being remembered but not found, and it served him well. Placing the apartment here, subtle comforts were in reach, but the happenings of Germany, and those who caused change such as the politicians and great minds, were not. He had found it was better to have that area of town within a day's travel than within your own backyard.
Hohenheim walked past the shelf of the day's breads to browse the tiny counter display. He had found he could come and go easy and inconspicuously. The building had a long hall from the back door that was frequently empty, and he enjoyed his privacy.
"You've put a lot of thought into how we could have passed the time Christopher," Hohenheim teased. He bent down and looked into the glass display. After smelling the blueberries and raspberries he was in the mood for something sweet, but recognized something plainer might be best for Ed's stomach. He indicated the hot and fluffy croissants which twenty minutes ago had been in the oven.
Behind the counter Adala packed the croissants into a small paper bag. She looked refreshed today. With old age her skin was becoming tough and her hair gray, but she was a nice landlord and a good cook. She waved her hand to the money Hohenheim offered the same way she did hers when he helped to fix a leak. Her husband had died of a simple human respiratory disease, and since Hohenheim responded to small civil chatter, she had managed to get him up a few ladders when in a pinch.
"That's a little disappointing," Chris said. Hohenheim reached into the bakery bag and offered Chris a croissant. He knew the boy was hungry. "What are you going to go do now?"
Hohenheim sighed with all the questions. He gave Adala a smile and returned to the back stairs. Chris followed him chewing.
"I am going to have breakfast."
Chris stopped at the landing and watched Hohenheim climb the stairs. Since Hohenheim had gained his immortality he had remained the same size, but it was a formidable one. His frame held significant solidarity with strong muscles in his arms.
Chris called after him. "Doctor Hohenheim?"
Hohenheim continued up a few steps before turning to the boy. Chris was eating quickly, and seemed concerned the same way he had last night when something as foreign, and possibly as volatile as Edward, arrived. Still, Hohenheim was a grown man, and Christopher waved this off and returned to the bakery grumbling to himself. Hohenheim found it amusing that the far younger and much weaker existence of Christopher would worry about a sin like him.
Hohenheim returned to his apartment. Christopher was a good boy, and ever since he'd taken the time to show interest, he'd gained a friend in a place he thought he didn't want one. In a way he was playing the role with Christopher he'd never had a chance to play with Ed.
Hohenheim entered the unlocked apartment casually, but the noise of his return startled Ed. Hohenheim was the sudden sound of a door and heavy male footfalls. Ed looked toward Hohenheim's entrance with the understanding someone unknown was entering an otherwise silent place, and the startled jerk of Ed's frame caused the day bed to squeak.
Hohenheim stopped. "It is just me," he whispered. He closed the door delicately. Ed's ears seemed very astute. In the time Hohenheim had been to the bakery Ed had woken up, but otherwise had not moved. The boy was still in the same position on his back with the cloth over his eyes. The heavy quilt was pulled to his shoulders and Hohenheim found it curious Ed had not adjusted the cloth so he could see. After Edward's show of strength last night, he had to assume the blanket was not pinning the boy down.
"I am glad to see you are awake." Hohenheim locked the door slowly so Ed would hear it happen. As he did so he watched Ed carefully, and as the lock turned, kicking the latch forward, Ed's head tilted just a fraction.
As a man of science Hohenheim began testing a sudden made hypothesis. With Ed awake with barely more than a single sense to comprehend with, he felt certain Ed was listening, and listening with a scrutiny meant to compensate for the lack of his other senses. Silently, but studiously, Ed was keeping track of every sound to understand his surroundings.
To put the boy at ease Hohenheim made his movements audible. He wanted Ed to understand them, and walked loudly to the kitchen. "I hope you are hungry." He set two croissants on a plate and approached the bed. "Are you all right?" he asked, noting with concern that Ed's expression was incredibly tight.
"Your voice," Ed said flatly. Ed was disturbed with the lack of identity. "Do you always whisper?" Ed's tone was accusatory. When Ed awoke that morning he found moving was very difficult, and in an unknown location with an unknown person, he was at the mercy of whoever had carried him home. Hohenheim could see the caution rippled across Ed's brow and understood part of this was his fault. That it was his absence, Trisha's illness, and the gate which had done this to his son. Edward had learned well and early on, that not everyone was nice.
Hohenheim pulled a warm flaky shred of croissant from the fattest roll and lowered it to Ed's face. "This is croissant." Ed was confused with the statement, and for a moment did nothing, until the smell of fresh bread reached his nose. At a slow, but eager speed, Ed raised his arm and took Hohenheim's wrist in a weak powerless grip. The strain of the mere lift had Ed's arm shaking with fatigue, and Hohenheim was surprised. His eyes dropped to the thin and slender fingers of Ed's flesh palm, and Ed's hand which was too small to wrap about his wrist.
Ed pulled it blindly towards his opening mouth. The action was that of a starving person and Hohenheim was expecting the croissant to be eaten in one bite. Instead Ed's jaw seemed just as exhausted. His fingers migrated down Hohenhiem's looking for the bread before plucking it forward and slowly pressing the shred into his mouth.
"Thank you," Ed whispered, chewing slowly. "I'll pay you for your troubles." Hohenheim retrieved a knife and some butter. He thought his son could use some extra weight. He sat down along side the bed and Ed gave a gentle shift of his weight. Hohenheim realized slowly, and with a hint of embarrassment, that being immobile and blind was making Ed uncomfortable with the proximity of him and he reached tentatively for the cloth on the boy's eyes.
"You can rest." His fingers paused at the edge of the cloth. He wanted Ed to sleep and recover his strength. Removing that cloth meant addressing the clear and present truth he was dreading. Ed did not know where he was. Ed did not know what had happened. Sight was synonymous with explanation, and Hohenheim was certain Edward would not be able to rest once he cognitively understood his situation.
"I appreciate the hospitality," Ed rasped, before swallowing heavily to clear his voice. The boy was naive to the fact Hohenheim's hand was inches from his face. "And," Ed's flesh hand plucked at the cotton sweater on his chest, "the clothing. I'll pay you for them." These words made Hohenheim smile and he withdrew his hand. In this world Ed's money was worthless. "Do you live here alone?" Hohenheim felt a level of sadness settle over him when Ed struggled to make conversation. Even so fatigued Ed's voice was curious and desperate to understand where he was and what was happening. The truth would be unavoidable. "We sound as if we're on a second floor." Ed's ears were sharp. "Are we close to a main road?" Hohenheim set the knife down on the edge of the day bed. A tiny clank identified this action, and the metal upon metal sound was recognizable as a dinner utensil. Ed tipped his head toward the noise but did not seem alarmed. "So…" Ed whispered, giving his lips a lick. Hohenheim could hear Ed's confusion his questions were being ignored, and under that confusion, was growing suspicion and alarm.
Hohenheim took a breath. There was simply no easy way to do it. "Edward, I don't want you to startle," he said kindly, revealing his true voice. In the quiet room it seemed to come suddenly, and was powerful. Although he tried his best to keep a reassuring intonation, the sound of him stiffened Ed so completely it seemed every muscle in Ed's body locked at once. "We should talk son."
Faster than Hohenheim thought possible Ed's hand sprang out and snatched the butter knife he'd set down. With a solid kick Ed propelled himself to the other side of the day bed with the blade raised.
Hohenheim leapt up with alarm. Ed was failing to maintain balance and was teetering badly. The pants on the boy's legs were too big and swam about his slender frame becoming tangled. With lifeless grace Edward's bangs slid into his face, the cloth fell away, and Hohenheim recognized the rapidly blinking golden eyes. Ed was struggling to find his vision. "Get away from me," Ed seethed, struggling back another inch. Ed's voice was laced with venomous hate. Inside the boy's grasp the knife was shaking as if with rage.
Hohenheim was speechless. He couldn't have fathomed Ed was capable of such sudden strength. Ed gave the knife a deliberate jab forward. "Back up," Ed snarled. Hohenheim lifted his gaze from Ed's trembling hand to Ed's eyes and recognized the sudden fury for what it was: Fear: Raw and blinding fear.
"Edward." Hohenheim raised his hands slowly as if at gun point, but Ed only escalated.
"Stop stalling and come out!" Ed gave the knife a wild shake. "I'll cut that face off you, I know it's you. You think you'll fool me with this!" Ed cried, giving the knife another quick jab forward. "Envy, get out of that form!"
Oh, Hohenheim thought slowly, so some of the anger was real. "Edward, I am not Envy," Hohenheim said quickly. He spoke in German, and was relieved that Ed appeared to be comprehending him and responding in the same language. Although Amestris's language was different, it had only the ill effect of poor pronunciation with the pass through the gate. "I am not Envy, Edward," he repeated, taking a step closer.
Ed physically jerked with the flare of panic this brought. "Back up!" Ed's used his single flesh leg to press himself back. "I am not kidding!" With all of his focus on Hohenheim, Ed was not paying attention to where he was backing up to, and in one final uncoordinated shove, hit the iron rail too close to the edge and toppled off the side.
Ed dropped from the low day bed like a ton of bricks. He was in every way unprepared for the fall. Gripping the butter knife as his single weapon, Ed refused to let it go, and therefore didn't even try to catch himself. The sound of Ed hitting the cold hard wood was little more than a weighed thud, the drop of a rolled carpet. What was only a three foot decent, and harmless for any child over four, felt like forty feet to Ed's injured body. The impact came like a baseball bat to the side, face, and single good arm.
Ed didn't drop the knife. He cried out once, in surprise and pain, the same way he would have under the first blow of a bat. Then he curled into a fetal position clutching the knife and hissing his exhales.
Hohenheim rushed to Ed's side with the same fear he felt when Alphonse, as an infant, used to extend his large and weighed head over the couch edge, and then promptly start falling off. When an infant fell everyone panicked, but somehow Ed dropping from the day bed at sixteen, felt like baby Alphonse falling head first off the couch.
Hohenheim knelt quickly at Ed's side and whispered to the boy. "Edward, you need to relax."
Ed was wheezing as if the fall had been a powerful blow to his lungs. With the blankets yanked half from the bed Ed's legs were tangled in them. About his head, golden strains of hair had fanned outward like a blooming sunflower. Ed tried to lift it and managed only a few inches. From his scalp his hair hung in limp threads. Ed managed to rasp the word 'get'. The beginning of what Hohenheim could only assume was an order for him to back away. With Ed's single arm pinned beneath him, he wasn't able to manage any movement and Hohenheim gestured at Ed's crumpled body with confusion.
"Ed, do you want me to help you?" he asked softly.
"Get…aw…away…" Ed choked. Recovering slowly, and under much strain as he tried to expedite any form of motor control.
Hohenheim felt at a loss. Ed was no longer of the age where he could simply scoop the boy up and put him in bed. Additionally, Ed had made it very clear throughout his life he preferred you ask before you assume. Helping Ed back into bed under the assumption that was what needed to be done, was not going to be enough for the boy.
"Ed," Hohenheim said softly. "You don't seem to be in good health." He appealed to Ed's rational side, but Ed was a mess. With the fall Hohenheim's loose and oversized sweater, had flopped up and exposed Ed's back to the cold air. Ed leaned away in what looked to be an attempt to speak, before slowly pushing himself an inch to the side. The driving need to place space between them seemed ever prevalent, and Ed was trying with everything he had to do so.
Hohenheim watched this with confusion. Did Ed really think a couple of inches would change anything? "Ed," he cautioned. "I do not have any articles which fit you." Ed's small shoves were slowly pulling his far too large pants down. "You may want to stay still."
Ed was consumed with his escape, and did not hear this. The last thing Ed was focusing on was the irrelevant and unthreatening notion of what he was wearing.
"You're not entirely decent, you understand?" Hohenheim asked, both discovering and nearing the line in the sand where he would intervene. There was the concern of Ed's temperature to consider. Although accidentally, Ed was undressing himself to the cold apartment after struggling to maintain standard body temperature under blankets. Ed's latest shove dropped his pants the few inches necessary to expose his protruding hipbones and the patch of hair which grew progressively thicker from Ed's navel downward. Edward's dress was as ridiculous as an adult's sock on an infant's foot.
"Ed, I am going to help adjust your clothes because they're slipping off," Hohenheim said, beginning a deliberately slow reach towards Ed's body.
Ed was like a beached whale. Trapped on his side, and gripping the dull knife, Ed looked at the extending hand with terror. Ed gave his head a single shake, and it was unclear if this was in response to what Hohenheim had said, or simply the descending palm.
"Stop it!" Ed croaked, squeezing his eyes closed and curling his leg in tighter.
"Let me help free your arm then," Hohenheim said, steadying Ed's torso and pulling his left arm out from under him. Ed immediately reached to his pants and, with his hand shaking and still holding the knife, pulled them back to his hips.
Hohenheim was silent. He watched Ed correct himself in scared frantic movements which were too short and sloppy for a healthy individual. Ed pulled his pants upward in front first, before reaching behind to his tale bone and completing the job. This meager activity and Ed's struggles fully exhausted him. Ed dropped his head back to the floor as if it were too heavy to hold and lay panting. After four heavy breaths and a single hard swallow Ed lifted the knife and pointed it at Hohenheim's face.
"I'll…cut your heart out," Ed whispered, managing only to exhale his words. Ed held the knife with white knuckles. His voice was almost too weak to hear. "Don't…think I won't."
The ability to fight seemed to have drained out of Ed's physical body. All that was left were Ed's eyes, blazing in the glare of a scared animal, while practically slipping closed on him. Hohenheim addressed this sensibly, the same way he had when Ed suggested they climb into the outdoor child sized pool Trisha had made.
"Edward, Envy is not here." Hohenheim stood and examined the state of the blankets. "You are on the other side of the gate now." Ed needed to understand this the same way the boy should have understood he could not fit into a pool a fraction of his size. "On the other side," he repeated, waiting for Ed to absorb the magnitude of it all.
Ed stared up at Hohenheim with an expression twisted with hate, before slowly Ed's brow began relaxing with shock.
"You are with me." Hohenheim gave his son a moment to digest and decide to trust. "That is truth, and that is fact." Edward's mouth slipped open with fearful disbelief. He understood what was being said, but his skeptical aggression, and the likelihood this was a trick rather than an alternate reality, was still raging.
Hohenheim could see this, and offered more evidence. "If I had wanted to hurt you, why would I have waited?" he asked plainly. "I have had ample opportunity, and even now…" Hohenheim bent down and took the butter knife away. With a simple tug it slipped from Ed's grasp. "…it would be easy." He stood up and bounced the knife in his palm. Ed released a series of quick blinks when Hohenheim did so, but never severed the intense fixated stare. "I am not him." Hohenheim tossed the knife to the day bed.
"You're not Envy?" Ed asked softly, attempting to prop himself up with his arm. He managed a few inches and gave up. Hohenheim shook his head in a slow kind fashion. Ed's upper half was wobbling unstably. "You're not?"
"No, I am afraid not."
Ed was frozen with Hohenheim's words. His look of skepticism disappeared and his eyes widened to a painful degree.
"How…How is this…" Ed was horrified. He tipped his head down and stared at the floor in stunned silence. Every bit of him fell to the intensity of this new understanding, and he stopped all sound and movement like an unwound toy. "How…did….but I…"
"Come now," Hohenheim said, with fragile optimism. He did his best to ignore Edward's grief stricken appearance and bent down and looped an arm about Ed's body. If Ed was incapable of raising his top half, he was incapable of getting off the floor. The line in the sand had appeared for him and he knew now, the same way he did when Ed tried to drink from his first adult cup, that he should do something. He would put the boy in bed, the same way he took the cup away after Ed dumped it over his face and down his shirt.
Hohenheim managed to get his arms about Edward's skinny body and prepared to lift the boy from the floor. "How!" Ed startled into speech with the touch. "Where is this exactly? How did I get here!" Ed weighed no more than a small adult sheep, and stiffened with the raise. "Put me down!" Ed grabbed at his quilt for privacy. Hohenheim stepped to the bed and this tugged sharply at the blanket under his feet. He paused, but Ed was not patient. "Now! Do it now Hohenheim!" Ed demanded, attempting to squirm. Ed was recovering strength from his fall, but still possessed too little to put up a fight. Without needing to move himself, Ed was focusing all of his energy into vocals and raising his voice. "Put me down!"
With Ed's wiggling Hohenheim instinctively gripped tighter and held Ed closer for safety. He feared dropping the boy. He brought both arms closer like a groom hugging his lifted bride. In Ed's ragdoll state he folded in on himself without any resistance. His head fell to Hohenheim's chest and landed below the man's chin. Upward wafted the very specific and unduplicated scent of Edward's personal aroma.
Hohenheim noted the change in smell and paused with the familiar, but momentarily unknown odor. Then it felt like an explosion, and hit like a collision of memory. It was a staggering amount of recollection and emotional dedication. He had not smelled his son in nearly a decade, but Edward smelled the same now as he did when he was born. Beneath the lingering alley trash and foreign clothes, was the smell of the X chromosome from Trisha and the Y chromosome from his own body.
Edward smelled like Amestris, a country home, his wife, and his family. It was the smell of Hohenheim's own body and the person which had split out of his DNA and soul. It was the smell of his son, and Hohenheim leaned his face into Ed's hair and inhaled with hunger.
Ed froze under an overwhelming sense of invasion. "What are you doing!" Ed cried.
Hohenheim sat back onto the day bed with the blanket still taunt about Ed's left leg and mainly on the floor. Ed settled into Hohenheim's lap and immediately tried to shove away. "Not here!" Ed cried indignantly. "Don't put me here! Put me down!" With his single hand Ed flattened his palm to Hohenheim's chest and tried to push the man away. Hohenheim ignored this action with ease. He was lost within the memories Ed's smell had brought him, and he didn't feel the angry shoving hand. He was remembering a blonde three year old who caught a frog no bigger than a half dollar in the backyard of a small crooked farmhouse. Determined to share it, Ed had climbed up Hohenheim's lap still wet from the vegetable basin they'd filled for him to play in, and pressed their noses together.
In that moment was Edward's smell, and it was a heart wrenching tease. After all that had changed, the politics, her death, and the move from Amestris to Europe, to find something from that time, which seemed so long ago and lifetimes away, preserved perfectly and presented again when everything had been taken, felt like a cosmic joke from the gate.
"I used to hold you like this as a child," Hohenheim whispered, closing his eyes. His lap had been a world large enough to fit an entire small person, the blanket Ed carried until he was three, four books, and Ed's stuffed bear which had eventually lost both button eyes. Trisha had set the first in the cabinet with her sewing things to mend, but never found the time. When Ed was four he ripped the other button off the bear and Alphonse had cried.
Hohenheim tightened his arms, and through the ribs on his right side, he could feel Ed's heart beating. "For a moment…" Hohenheim left his memories and returned to the present. He looked down at Ed, and the boy was staring up at him in fearful shock. "…let me hold you like I did when you were younger." Hohenheim lifted the blanket up from the floor and laid it back over Ed's body. Ed was colder than him, and he tucked the boy in tight before resting his cheek in Ed's hair. He was acutely aware of the weight in his arm being Edward's entire existence, and the minimal weight on his lap a result of Ed being so disproportionate. "What's happened between us is really unfortunate," he said softly. "I think I had finally come to believe I'd never see you again." This was the truth, and it had been months since he had even allowed himself to entertain memories of Amestris and everything which had happened there. "It's amazing to me." This statement was meant to summarize everything. The resiliency of the human race, the capability of Edward's soul, the damage to Edward's physical form, and the concept even a monster could love his son when something as precious as love was undeserved. "My son."
In a healthy state Ed would have been overcome with the numerous topics opened all at once with Hohenheim's brief whimsical statements. Feeling nauseous and with his head pounding Ed closed his eyes unable to take anymore and wanting a moment to rest. He gave the old man as much as he could stomach, and after a minute of remaining patient in a state of confused disgust and unease, he stirred.
Ed cocked his elbow back and shoved at whatever part of Hohenheim it touched. "You're hurting me," Ed said miserably. Hohenheim adjusted his arm, propping Ed's body upward. This caused a fast spike of pain, like the jab of a sharp metal pole and Ed cried out. "Ah! This hurts! You're hurting me!" Hohenheim quickly laid Ed back and Ed flattened out breathing heavily and rubbing at his chest. "What happened to me?" Ed was confused and cracked an accusing eye to Hohenheim's befuddled expression.
"You haven't any wounds that I can see." Hohenheim lifted the bottom of Ed's sweater to examine Ed's chest but Ed slapped him off and held his clothing down.
"Don't touch me." Ed lifted a finger to Hohenheim's face and narrowed his eyes into a fierce gaze. "Now I let you do this thing you're doing, this hugging thing, as payment for breakfast and whatever I am wearing, but that doesn't mean you can touch me." Ed lowered his finger and resumed rubbing his chest. "I don't want to be in debt to you, understand?"
This concept was maddening to Hohenheim. "You could never be in debt to me Edward."
"I decide what debt I have," Ed snapped, closing his eyes needing rest. Ed's breathing had increased with strain, and Hohenheim found it disturbing such minimal activity exhausted Ed.
Ed's body was slack and his forehead looked damp with cold sweat. These were the symptoms you had with an open wound, and Hohenheim didn't understand it. He racked his brain, arguing against the fear the room might have been too dim to properly notice a wound, but he was certain what was left of Ed's body was intact. Although he had not scrutinized the boy in detail, he had at least run the bathing rag over everything important.
"What's bothering you?"
Ed stopped rubbing and jabbed his chest irritably. "My chest."
"I'll call a doctor." Hohenheim carefully shifted Ed into the daybed, and Ed did little to participate. He was languid and eagerly collapsed and let Hohenheim cover him.
"You sure…" Ed muttered. Hohenheim left for the kitchen. "…sure you're not Envy?"
Phone numbers in Germany had only four digits, but even so Hohenheim found he could never remember them. What one city, or world, had as phone numbers was simply not of consequence enough to commit to memory. He had to leave to his bedroom and fish the number out of his journal. Then he placed the call with Ed slumped into the side of the day bed watching him with half massed eyes.
Graham Gratter could talk, and Hohenheim gestured Ed take to the waiting croissants when he realized the call may not be as quick as he anticipated.
Ed used the next three minutes shuffling himself to the side of the day bed. He reached first to collect the plate of croissants, then the butter, and again the butter knife which had been buried. At first chance Ed crammed an entire croissant into his mouth while struggling to open the butter with one hand. The glass dish had a small sealing top and it was wedging up slowly after Ed pinched the dish between his thighs to keep it steady. When it popped free Ed dropped it into the blankets and shoved half a croissant in. He ate in large hungry bites managed only by the low energy chewing and swallowing. Ed's hunger seemed greater than his body's strength, and Hohenheim found it disgusting how much butter Ed found acceptable in his mouth.
"I can't remember how I got here," Ed said, mouth full of food and all words significantly muffled and difficult to understand. After the call Hohenheim returned to the chair alongside the bed and watched Ed. "I don't remember anything." Hohenheim brought the remainder of the croissants because Ed had eaten those on the dish. Ed took them eagerly now that he knew whose food he was eating. "I don't remember anything but speaking to you last night after I was already here." Hohenheim did not forward the way they had met. He watched Ed smear half a croissant up and down the inside of the butter dish until it was yellow. "And I don't remember what we talked about."
"It wasn't much," Hohenheim said. Ed fell silent while he was chewing and Hohenheim studied the pink tinge creeping into Ed's cheeks. "Edward, I think you're growing a fever." Ed ignored this with a grunt. His zeal for eating had dwindled drastically after spending what little energy he had secured. Hohenheim studied the limp way Ed's flesh hand lay in the blankets, and how Ed seemed comfortable chewing with the croissant protruding from his mouth while his eyes were closed. He reached over and laid a hand on Ed's forehead with his concern mounting, but Ed slapped it off at once.
Ed spit the croissant out and spoke firmly. "Don't touch me." He lifted the half chewed bread from his chest angrily. "I am not five. I can take care of myself."
This was an unwise and immature statement. "You did a fine job last night," Hohenheim said kindly. Ed bristled, and for a moment stopped chewing to cast Hohenheim a dark look.
"Where is my automail?" The tone was accusatory.
"It wasn't with you."
"Did they not come?" Ed asked, sounding worried.
Hohenheim contemplated this. It was likely anything Ed had on him from Amestris would be removed as it was an item of the other realm. Something as simple as the boy's clothing made of leathers and cottons which existed in this world could continue. Self operating metal appendages could not. If they had come at all, they would have most likely disassembled into scraps or mounds of misshapen metal lumps about the alley. "I don't believe they did."
Ed's expression tightened with a moment of panic. His lips pinched tight and his brow furrowed into a wrinkle, before anger immerged. "Isn't that a bitch?" Ed asked, forcing a fragile happy tone. "All that work to have them put on…" the anger began returning. "And now…" Ed trailed off, voice growing faint as if collapsing to a defeated sadness. "All that work…all that time." Ed lifted his hand and dropped it onto his face to rub his temples. "It's not easy to get them, you know," Ed said irritably.
"I can imagine." Hohenheim had never seen automail surgery, or known anyone close with such appendages, but Ed's scarred and misshapen body was burned into his mind.
"It takes a lot of time and a lot of effort."
"I am sure."
"I really liked mine." Ed dropped his hand back to the bed. "I've had them for years, almost as long as we've had our teacher. So I am not…so I am used to having them!"
"When did you get a teacher?"
Ed's anger over his automail disappeared with the change in topic, and new mild irritation bloomed. "After mom died. Al and I studied Alchemy with her to bring mom back."
"That's surprising."
Ed met Hohenheim's gaze with bitter hatred. "Gotta learn from someone." Ed's voice was dripping with resentment. "And I didn't have any parents left."
"I meant I find it surprising she'd teach you such a taboo. Understanding human transmutation largely results from experiencing human transmutation and I find it surprising a human would teach another human such a thing after witnessing such violence first hand."
Ed jerked upright with insult. "Did you just call her a human?" Ed demanded angrily. He slapped the remaining croissant off the bed before lifting his sole hand into a disapproving point. "Get one thing straight Hohenheim, like it or not part of you is human, so you don't have the right to refer to us as anything external from yourself, and certainly not anything less. Most humans don't abandon their families with reckless disregard. And my teacher didn't teach us human transmutation. She was furious when she found out what we'd done. She helped us remember how small we are. I am not being metaphorical."
"Why do you feel a need to clarify this with me?" Hohenheim asked, puzzled with Ed's defensive tone. Ed was behaving like a guilty child fearful of the closest adult. "I don't think you did anything nearly as offensive as Human Transmutation to end up here, and I've never had the heart to punish you, even when you were little."
"Yes you did!" Ed snapped, jerking his hand back up the bit it had lowered. Hohenheim looked at the tiny finger pointing at him. "And don't give me that 'heart' bullshit when you freaking walked out on us!"
"I did not," Hohenheim said with confusion.
"You did so!" Ed yelled, before pointing to his own face. "And you slapped me in the face!" Hohenheim was stunned with this accusation, but his confusion lit a fire under Ed. "You neglectful piece-of-crap excuse for a father Hohenheim!" Ed shoved the dish off the bed as well. "Just get away from me!"
Then Hohenheim remembered.
It was late. The day was early autumn. Ed was in Hohenheim's study where the boy didn't belong. Trying to get into things he shouldn't. Trying to read things he didn't want the boy to read. He didn't want his son to become like him. With the boys the fear they'd discover or manage dangerous alchemy was strong and Trisha shared it. Hohenheim feared the unknown and haunting thought that something of the blackness inside him may now be in them. That into Trisha's womb he had left behind the death and sin that made him, and like nutrients Edward and Alphonse had absorbed it.
That night, finding Ed in his office, holding books that were instructions to death he panicked. He had taken the book away and slapped Ed's face when he argued. Ed wanted to know where he had been, where he was going, and why what was written in a book was more important than all of them.
Ed was six, it was the last time he had returned to the farmhouse.
"What kind of father slaps their own son in the face!" Ed was furious.
"The kind who wants one with all four limbs," Hohenheim said firmly. His words were painfully accurate, and Ed silenced with disbelief.
Ed wasn't expecting Hohenheim to remember. He wasn't expecting an explanation. It was easier to hate the act than to understand it.
He found himself falling to an emotional level of uselessness with nothing to say. Hohenheim waited through this familiar routine. Since Ed learned to speak he would take thoughtful bouts of silence best described as periods of mental contemplation to bridge his theories or strengthen his arguments. Once done, Ed returned with vigor, and was often harder to verbally combat than before. Until Ed felt he was done with a topic, he could be relentless and that was why Trisha, to Hohenheim's knowledge, never gave up her stool punishment. When Ed would not stop arguing with her she would ask him if he wanted to sit there, and he silenced.
Edward was a very deliberate child, and seemed to have developed into a very deliberate persnickety person. Trisha had also learned to handle this by ending her sentences with 'not one word,' but Hohenheim had never been able to do so. Edward seemed compelled to communicate, and he didn't feel he had the authority to stop that.
Hohenheim gestured to the croissant which lay on the floor. "Would you like anymore?" he asked.
Ed disregarded this and tossed cold eyes to Hohenheim. "I need pants," Ed said, tone flat, "which fit me." Ed wanted out of the previous conversation. Hohenheim could feel it. Ed wanted out of the bed, out of the apartment, and away from him. Ed wanted to get up and be free.
"You can't stand," Hohenheim said with some confusion. "What good would they be?" In response to this question Ed raised his upper lip and bared his teeth like a wild dog. It was a rude facial expression and Hohenheim was surprised.
There was a knock at the door and Hohenheim stood to answer it. "Try not to make such scary expressions for our guest Edward." Ed was disgusted and ignored this comment.
Doctor Graham Gratter was a well known scholar in their area, and he greeted Hohenheim in a warm hug. "Doctor Hohenheim!" Graham cheered, entering quickly. "I do hope you're not ill. I was surprised to get such a call." Early sixties, Doctor Gratter wore dark colored respectable clothing. "I came right away, and I saw Christopher on my way up." Graham slapped his hand affectionately to Hohenheim's bicep. With age Graham was now less than half Hohenheim's height. "He's looking nice and healthy, but he did flash me a worried glance. I think that boy has taken quite a fix to you." Graham laughed.
Hohenheim had met Graham in one of the largest libraries in Berlin. Unable to find the book he was looking for he had asked a librarian. She became anxious when he disclosed the topic he was seeking. The world was becoming dangerous, and from behind Hohenheim Graham had laughed when the man heard him ask for it. "Well now," Graham had said, smiling brightly. "If I recall correctly our wise politicians have banned such literature to the public." The librarian scurried off after the word banned, and Hohenheim considered the short tottering man standing in Europe holding an armful of books. "Want to get a cup of coffee?" Graham had asked. "You can never have too many educated friends."
In fact Graham was educated, and probably more so than the German people knew. He had the practical mind of a scientist and was quickly filtering through the useless theories of the old era and developing those for the new. This was his most attractive quality to Hohenheim. Coincidentally, and conveniently, Graham was also the finest doctor he'd met in the country.
Hohenheim locked the door behind them and gestured they enter. "No, no I am feeling all right," he reassured. Graham entered rubbing at his receding head of cotton ball white hair. "May I get you anything?"
Graham smiled ear to old wrinkled ear. "I think the question is, may I get you anything Doctor Hohenheim," Graham said warmly. "I can't stay long, not long at all, but I came right away."
Hohenheim indicated the day bed which was set further in the apartment and Graham's smile fell with a bit of surprise when he noticed Ed inside it. "A new recruit?" Graham teased, hiding his surprise well. "My my." Graham walked to the day bed and dropped his black bag at his feet. "Still taking in those in need are we?" Ed glanced inquisitively to Hohenheim, but Hohenheim ignored this with a polite smile. After stealing the lives of thousands in order to exist, occasionally offering a piece of bread or bed to those nearly dying seemed a small charity.
Hohenheim retrieved the chair he'd been using and brought it closer for Graham to take a seat. Deliberately he was slow in doing so. He was curious as to whether Ed would speak and assume the bit of authority his age granted him, or if he would wait while in this new world. His son did not disappoint.
Ed extended a weak hand to Graham as soon as the man was close enough. "I am Edward Elric." Ed introduced himself with the firmest tone he could manage.
Graham offered a candid nod and took a seat. "I am Doctor Gratter." Graham gave Ed's hand a casual shake. "What happened to you then Mr. Elric?"
Hohenheim felt a leap of surprise when he heard the phrase 'Mr. Elric' fall appropriately from Graham's lips. It was received comfortably by Ed, but somehow Hohenheim felt slighted with the adult reference to his son. While he was proud Ed had not been too intimidated to assume the lead, he also felt robbed. He had known, perhaps from the moment he hefted Ed into his arms and out of the German snow, that his son was no longer the small toddling child he once was, and in many ways was a man. As a scientist he understood this, and as a scientist he scolded himself for feeling caught off guard, and somehow cheated when the rest of the world acknowledged it. Edward was no longer such a small boy he could be referred to by his abbreviated first name without it being disrespectful. In Amestris Edward had been living at this age long enough he was accustomed to assuming command for himself as Edward Elric, and Hohenheim did not forward the fact they were related. Edward believed himself to be Mr. Elric, a distinguished state alchemist carrying only her name, and conducted himself as such.
"If I exert myself too fully, I feel a searing pain in my chest," Ed said, poking the center of his chest for explanation.
Graham placed a hand on Ed's chest and carefully felt for damage. "Can you sit up son?" Ed was thoughtfully still before pressing his hand down into the bed to begin pushing himself up. He managed a few inches and then Graham helped. He grasped Ed gingerly, cautious of undiagnosed injuries and helped raise him until Ed was sitting. "Let's get this shirt up then." Graham gestured Ed lift it.
Ed brought his hand to his mouth and bit the sleeve of the cuff. Without assistance Ed used his mouth to hold the sleeve tight, slid his arm out, and lifted the sweater up and over his head. It was a fluid movement born of skilled practice, and Graham glanced to Hohenheim and gave his eyebrows a hike in silent acknowledgement.
Ed dropped the shirt to his lap with a sigh and waited. For a moment Graham adjusted his wire thin glasses with fascinated regard for the missing right arm, deep scars, and odd way Ed's shoulder had responded. Even here in Germany amputation was no stranger, but Ed did not have the smooth cut of a Doctor's blade. His wounds had not healed in a leveled fashion as would be provided proper treatment. His arm had been ripped out and dissolved inward. His body was used to the automail port and the weight of a metal appendage changing the way it looked without it.
"It happened a long time ago," Ed said, breaking Graham's stare. "My left leg is missing as well." Graham cleared his throat and flashed Hohenheim another quick hike of his eyebrows. He did not comment on Ed's injuries or the direct way in which Ed addressed them.
"How long has he been here Hohenheim?" Graham asked, reaching back to Ed's chest and pressing gently. Ed glanced between Hohenheim and Graham quickly. This was a question Ed could have answered, but it was handed off to Hohenheim. Ed's interest was in his exam and he watched Graham's fingers prod gently into his true ribs.
"Since last night," Hohenheim said, watching intently. "But there are no wounds I can see. I dressed him and he doesn't appear to be injured."
Ed's expression darkened when he heard this, and Graham reached to his bag and slipped a stethoscope on. "Your chest is your only complaint than, Mr. Elric?" Graham asked, placing the diaphragm on Ed's chest.
Ed cracked a smile. "Not unless you have an arm and a leg in that black bag."
Graham found this humorous and gave a brief chuckle. He slipped a hand around to Edward's back to stabilize him and moved the diaphragm about his chest.
Hohenheim observed silently. Ed was extremely obedient, and more docile than he'd seen the boy. It fascinated him how Edward interacted with Graham, and how hate free that interaction seemed.
"Breath deeply for me son," Graham said, listening intently as Ed took a few careful breaths. They were calculated and slowly controlled. After a moment Graham sat back with a perplexed expression. He brought a hand to his glasses and adjusted them thoughtfully before waving quickly for Edward to lie back down. "Lay down young man, lay down," Graham said, with a natural impatience. Ed obeyed as fast as he was able, which was quite slow. With only one arm he moved his pillow before beginning an organized shifting of his weight to return to his back. Immediately Graham swept the blanket to Ed's hips and replaced the diaphragm. "Mr. Elric the center of your chest sounds injured," Graham said, adapting a tone of mild annoyance. The man rubbed down the manubrium center of Ed's chest before to his stomach and pressed carefully. "You sound deeply congested."
"When I inhale a lot, it hurts," Ed said, watching Graham investigate his navel.
Graham abandoned Ed's stomach and gently grasped Ed's chin. Ed opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. "Did you breathe anything funny boy?" Graham asked, tilting Ed's head about to better see his tonsils. Ed gave a tiny nondisrupting shake of his head. Graham retrieved a small mouth mirror and slipped it into Ed's mouth. "Just keep your throat relaxed, don't try and swallow. I want to see your throat." Ed muffled a short noise of protest and lifted his hand uneasily.
"Edward, he's a very good doctor," Hohenheim reassured, sensing Ed's discomfort.
"Hohenheim his chest sounds awful. Where did you get him?" Graham asked, prodding about in Ed's mouth.
"Not too far from here in fact." Hohenheim kept it vague, but Graham wasn't fooled. He paused in his work and lifted his gaze with disapproval. Was there so little trust?
"The center of his chest sounds damaged inside, as if he inhaled a strong toxin or was struck with a very hard object and is recovering." Graham retracted the mouth mirror and sat back. "But his skin shows no signs of abuse." Ed swallowed heavily and licked his lips before flexing his jaw. "I've had to look at a few lads over chimney sweep jobs, but he's missing so many pieces, I am stumped as to what he could have done." Graham gestured at Ed with developing irritation the conclusion was something Ed simply wasn't disclosing. "It's most perplexing." Graham pulled a thermometer from his bag and gave it a shake. "You don't remember smelling anything unusual Mr. Elric?" Graham asked.
"No," Ed whispered.
"You do something you don't want to tell me about?"
Ed gave his head a shake. "No."
Graham slipped the thermometer into Ed's mouth and gave Hohenheim a heavy sigh. "Well, from one doctor to another, I am coming up bare handed Hohenheim," Graham said wearily, with a tone disconcerted with the absent diagnosis. "How long do you plan on keeping him?" Hohenheim didn't know how to answer this. "Is he eating?"
"He had some croissants with me this morning."
"Drinking?"
"I can make him some tea."
Graham gave an encouraging nod and raised Ed's thermometer to read it. "Slight fever," he said unenthusiastically. "Mr. Elric, I can't seem to figure out the root of your vexing ailment," Graham said, leaving a pause for Ed to forward some information. "What's the last thing you ate?"
"Um…" Ed trailed off. "Croissants."
"Give me the last thing you ate before this morning and how much you've been sleeping. Have you been ill this winter?" Ed didn't know how to answer these questions and his brow tightened with unease
"No, I…don't think I've been sick," Ed said uncertainly. "And I usually…sleep about…" Ed glanced toward the wall thinking quickly. "Maybe seven hours a day. With work probably seven, and then close to eleven on days when I am not working, or when I am traveling I sleep more. I sleep on the train."
Graham was confused with these answers and gave Ed a stern glare. "You sleep on the train?" Graham asked skeptically. Trains were too expensive for urban beggars, and with much of the building tension in Europe, unnecessary travel was not allowed. In Munich this answer did not translate into the state of political turmoil and Graham narrowed his eyes with agitation for what could only be lies. "And where is it your work Mr. Elric?" Ed opened his mouth to answer, and then promptly shut it. "How about what you ate, and how much you've slept this week. When did you chest first start bothering you?"
"I am not sure what I ate," Ed said, becoming annoyed. "And probably close to seven hours each night this week. My chest started bothering me today."
Graham's expression recoiled with rising agitation and this tightened a wrinkle in his brow which ran from the tip of his nose to the mid of his forehead. "Mr. Elric I have a low tolerance for your lying young man." Graham's tone was nothing to sneeze at and Ed was flabbergasted. Ed tugged his sheet a bit higher and lifted his eyebrows with a bit of shock. "I expect you to be grateful for this roof over your head." Graham pointed toward the ceiling. "And free medical care." Graham pointed to Hohenheim next. "Now answer me honestly boy."
"How would you even know if I was lying?" Ed asked, aghast but quickly becoming frustrated himself. Hohenheim became a bit nervous. He wasn't certain how Edward was accustomed to treating other business men. He felt unsure how to intervene if Ed became too rude, or if Graham became confused with Ed's unintentional conflict with Germany's customs. "I am not comfortable being accused of dishonesty Doctor Gratter," Ed said, using a tone Hohenheim had never heard before. It was the tone of an educated and commanding individual used to being able to give commands based on expert power. Edward's tone seemed too old for his tiny body and youth. "And considering how briefly you've known me I find it assuming and unprofessional."
Graham was shocked with this statement and leaned forward placing himself eye level with Ed. "I will not be talked to this way by an ill youth who will not admit to whatever caused his illness. Do you think you are the first young man to have a case of the 'I-Can't-Remembers' Mr. Elric?"
"I thought qualified Doctors could diagnosis their patients without the patient's assistance," Ed snapped. "What would be your approach if I were unconscious? Viral contagion?"
Graham reached up and snatched the glasses from his face with outrage. "Young man, do you want the strap?" he asked angrily.
Ed didn't understand the question. For a moment he lay frowning with confusion before giving a nod. "If it will make my chest feel better, yes."
Hohenheim saw Graham's look of amazement before it bled over with anger and he quickly interrupted. "Graham he has a fever," Hohenheim said, stepping up and laying a hand on the man's shoulder. "I don't think he's following the conversation well." Ed's head jerked up with umbrage, but wisely, Ed seemed to at last grasp the concept there was a blossoming miscommunication he couldn't understand. Graham stood up with a loud insulted snort. "Let me make you some tea, please. I am sure it's been tough for him."
Graham shot Ed a look of disapproval before sighing heavily. "The only thing I can diagnosis is significant weakening of the lungs, as if by toxin, although he shows no contamination, or by that of a brunt object through he shows no wound impact." Graham gave his fist a shake to illustrate the heartiness of the tool. "He should have horrible bruising and broken ribs. This type of internal injury takes some time to heal and often the external can help gauge recovery. What he has, sounds very much like temporary or agitated damage to his lungs." Ed pulled the quilt up and covered his chest while listening.
"I can keep him here as long as he's recovering," Hohenheim reassured, gesturing they move to the kitchen. Graham flicked his wrist forward and checked his watch.
"No heavy activity or strenuous movement. Harsh breathing will lead him to a coughing fit and it's likely he'll bring up blood and healing tissue. Until he is much closer to healing, I won't need to see him again." Graham turned to Ed. "Rest and stay seated or laying down. Get plenty of fluids." Graham returned his gaze to Hohenheim. "I assume you'll feed him?" Hohenheim gave a nod and humored smile. "Listen to me, telling you what you already know." Graham broke a quick laugh. "He's the most obstinate one you've brought home; I'll give you that Hohenheim. My advice would be to chastise his insolence or send him packing." Graham indicated his watch. "But I must be going. I interrupted my schedule when I took your call."
"I apologize." Hohenheim followed Graham to the door. "I hope I haven't burdened you." Graham waived this off and paused his departure in the threshold.
"Is there anything else you need from me then?"
Hohenheim thought on this briefly. There was. "Actually, if it's not too great a bother, I was wondering if you might know how I could secure a wheelchair for a while." He looked back to Ed, but Ed closed his eyes tightly the moment he heard the word. Wheelchair: It felt like a death sentence.
"Of course, of course." Graham waived this off. "I'll have my man bring one by and instruct Chris to bring it up for you. I have one very close I can lend. Very close." Hohenheim laughed when Chris was volunteered. "On that note I wonder if you might be kind enough to stop by my office later this week and take a look at some of the things I've been working on, hm? As one doctor to another?"
Hohenheim smiled warmly. "You know I can always stop by for a friend."
"Maybe your interests will move to medicine, instead of dreary politics." Graham laughed and Hohenheim joined. He let Graham out and locked the door before returning all attention to Ed.
Ed was lying quietly in the bed staring out the window with a hand absently rubbing his chest. Outside the sky was gray and it looked as if it would snow again. Last night's flurries had left a thick powder all about the city and if it snowed again so soon, there would be at least two feet of it.
Hohenheim called to the boy. "Edward?" Ed ignored him. "Do you remember being hit, on the other side? Perhaps, a wound there carried over with you, possibly not fully healed or very fresh?" Ed shook his head slowly. "Anything at all? Perhaps—were you sick?" Ed gave the same slow shake of his head and Hohenheim felt discouraged. He had known Graham for several years, and twice he had brought unrelated injured parties to him. Graham was masterfully skilled, and this was the first time he had seen the man unable to diagnosis an ailment. He had to believe this unknown variable came with Ed from Amestris. "Well, in due time it will become clear anyway, and it won't be important any longer," he reassured, waiting by the door. Graham was relatively close and his 'man,' or personal butler, had a knack for speed. He expected the wheelchair within the next half hour. "Do you need anything Ed?" he asked, trying to read the signs he knew his son was exhibiting, but they were foreign to him. Long ago the boys used to cry, and every time Trisha knew what for and what to do. This same secret knowledge was never granted to him. One cry sounded like all cries, and it had always seemed to him the needs and wants of children followed no rhyme or reason. "Ed?" he probed. "How about something to drink?"
"Please just leave me alone," Ed said softly, increasing the strength of his rubbing. Hohenheim watched Ed's chest move under the pressure and tried to imagine what could have internally damaged Ed without touching him externally. Graham seemed to suspect the only possible thing, which was fumes entering in the lungs.
"Could you have smelled something noxious or hazardous before crossing?" he asked.
Ed ignored his question. "Do they have automail in this world?"
"Well…" The answer was both yes and no. Of course they had something for those unfortunate enough to loose limbs, but no they were not the tools Ed was familiar with.
In less then thirty minutes a familiar knock came to the door and Hohenheim knew it was Chris. He answered, cracking it only slightly, and Chris stood in the hall looking worried.
"Hey," Chris said uneasily. "Is he okay? I mean, I didn't think you needed to call a doctor. He looked fine last night." Chris had brought the wheelchair and Hohenheim took it as Chris spoke.
"It was just a precaution." Chris was surprised with this because doctors were not called in this section of town unless it was important. Free service from doctors when nothing was certain was even more astounding. "Chris, may I ask a favor?" Hohenheim asked. Chris had his eyebrow raised and was temporarily mute with Hohenheim's uncharacteristically rash behavior. "May I borrow some of your clothes, I am afraid mine are a bit too big."
"A bit too big?" Chris laughed, but Ed's head snapped up and Hohenheim felt Ed's angry stare on his back. "Sure thing."
"Thank you." Hohenheim offered a kind smile and shut the door with Chris on his way into the parallel apartment. He brought the wheelchair in and turned to Ed before halting with the angry glare fixed on him.
"A bittoo big," Ed repeated angrily. "Just wait till I get out of this bed!" Ed pointed to the door. "And who's that! Why were they here last night?" Hohenheim broke a kind laugh with Ed's flustered appearance. "What?" Ed demanded, becoming angry. "What's funny? Stop laughing old man." Hohenheim tried to keep his laughter to a minimum and managed to reduce it to polite chuckling.
"Still the same Edward I remember." Ed was even more disgusted with this common expression of acquaintance and shot Hohenheim a dirty look. "His name is Christopher. He is a glassworker and shares the upstairs with me. It is just mine and his apartment occupied above a bakery. The third is vacant." Hohenheim pushed the wheelchair alongside the day bed, and Chris returned before he even had it parked. Then, with Chris curious to sneak a peek, he politely took the small bundle of clothing from Chris's arms and shut the door.
Ed was eager for clothing, and immediately reached for the linens Hohenheim set at his side. Quickly Ed separated the provided shirt and dragged it to his lap. He laid it over his thighs quickly and, working with his single hand, separated the front and back to slide his arm inside before stopping abruptly as if he were interrupted. Hohenheim met the dark gaze Ed lifted with confusion, but Ed was quick. "I dress myself," Ed said firmly, pausing with the shirt tight in grasp. "I don't want your help, and I don't expect you as a spectator either."
Hohenheim left the side of the bed and walked to the kitchen window. Outside the snow was several feet high on the near building's roof. Below the ice made the cement roof tiles look like glass slabs, the metal pipe wrapping upward and out of sight was all but frozen. "Edward, I am going to make you some tea," Hohenheim said, leaving to his cupboard. Inside he had three tins full of leaves. One was a common and cheap German Schwarztee, the second and third imported and expensive. He chose a Fruchttee, he'd purchased while in Oslfriesland and put the kettle on before stepping from the kitchen to check on the boy.
Edward was dead asleep where he lay with Christopher's shirt in his grasp. Hohenheim was not expecting this and for a moment studied Ed skeptically before approaching.
Ed's mouth was draped open and the boy's snoring was soft but audible. It seemed the morning's events were too exhausting and Edward slept straight to the evening.
Thank you everyone, that was chapter 3!
This was the first scene with real Ed/Hoho interaction. Please let me know what you thought! Was it what you expected? Can you feel what it is like to meet again from either perspective? How do you think things will progress?
If you can, leave a review! - I appreciate every comment more than you know -
Chapter 4: Honey Bee will be posted next Friday 1/25/13.