Damaged People Chapter 10: When you're by my side, a fullmetal alchemist fanfic

Damaged People.

Each Occupation has its Hazards, and You Happen to Be Mine.

We're damaged people.
Praying for something,
That doesn't come from somewhere deep inside us.
Depraved souls,
Trusting in the one thing:
The one thing that this life has not denied us.

Damaged People Part One: Recapitulation.

THE IMAGINATION HE COULD HAVE SOMETIMES.

PROLOGUE: In the Quasicanon Verse, Edward and Roy's established relationship comes to a shrieking halt when Roy is murdered. What is a boy to do, but pull a Tsukino Usagi and use his ultimate powers to reincarnate himself and all his friends to a new, all-normal life?

He is suddenly plunged head-first into reality, and that reality was this: there was no such thing as Equivalent Exchange. He had lost his mother. He had lost his brother's body. He had lost his limbs. And at one time, he may have been able to tell himself that at least he had met Roy from this. But now even he was gone. And he had gained nothing. And a funny thing happened, then. Edward Elric's hands hit the ground, fingers splayed, and a light emerged from them. Suddenly, Edward Elric had the power to mold the world with his passion, though he didn't know it. Because, curiously enough, the only way Equivalent Exchange applies is if the alchemist believed in it. And though he'd been taught of it's existence all his life, Equivalent Exchange was now as dead to him as love was. The world underwent an abrupt transformation. Alchemy was non-existent. Wars were stopped. The military no longer ran the world. And Edward Elric... was a junior in high school?

CHAPTER ONE: The first day of Edward Elric's junior year in fantastical AU-land dawns bright and… late, a dismal prelude to a rather dismal day, as well as his first encounter with a certain significant other from his past…

"Right, as I was saying." The man said, apparently continuing a speech Edward had missed the beginning of. He was tall and rather pale, but not in a sickly way, per se. He seemed to carefully avoid Ed's eyes as he scanned the room, running a hand through obsidian locks oh hair. "I'm Roy Mustang, and I'm going to be your Algebra teacher, and quite possibly your worst nightmare this semester."

CHAPTER TWO: The rest of Edward's first day is related, chronicling meeting an array of friends from his past incarnation, as well as others' place within his current. But not all is cheerful hello, when it soon becomes apparent that Ed and Al are in danger of saying goodbye to their adult-free life.

"Name your terms." Al had said evenly. "I want money." Joel replied. "Or I'll tell everyone and anyone about the fact that you and your brother slash boyfriend or whatever the hell he is are living alone." "Fine." Al spat. "How much?"

CHAPTER THREE: In the first Roy-centric moment of the story, we have insight to the daily woes of Roy's teaching career, which has been in progress for a few months now. Not only has his job progressed- we see his attraction to Edward, though limited by distance, has managed to increase over the last few months, as well as his impatience with his situation. Al's bullying problems have also continued, and come to a dramatic conclusion when Roy steps in to resolve conflict for the Elrics, learning in turn their secret, and invoking Edward's wrath.

"You," Ed breathed. Roy spun to face him, alarmed. That was not a tone of felicity being elicited form the younger man's mouth. "Er. Me." Roy agreed lamely. "You had to step in, we had everything covered!" Ed roared suddenly. "Woah, Ed," Roy said, taken aback. "I was just helping." "Next time," Edward growled, "consider asking if I need your fucking help first!"

CHAPTER FOUR: Finally! Some background! In this chapter, Edward and Roy make up, spawning a new friendship that both are eager to encourage to its fullest potential. Also, both are recruited to the Science Team, opening the next arc of dramatics.

"So, what I'm saying is this. My mother died for that kid. No one will ever, no man, woman, legal guardian, eighteen or ninety will ever understand that so fully as I. My mother… My mother was the epitome of joy and cheerfulness and warmth and home… She was the light of this world. A lot of kids you hear about don't appreciate their parents until they're gone, but Al and I, well, she was always the only person we had. We always loved her more than anything. When she was gone, we were devastated, but I made an oath… I swore to never let anything inhibit me from protecting Al, because that's what she did with her dying breath, defended him. Mom was everything to me. And because of that, Al is now everything. I've always loved my brother, but now I am dedicated to him."

CHAPTER FIVE: Not five minutes afterwards, Roy manages to instigate a bit of social torture on Edward that makes the latter a little bitchy. There is some ensuing flirting, pleading, some more bitching, and a lot of thinking, and finally at the Science Team meeting the two call truce once more. We also get more Mustang backstory, which is always a plus.

"What I'm saying is, if he theoretically was to start a relationship with a student, that would be his decision, and his business. If he thought he could handle it, or rather, if he thought he should handle it, despite all the trouble he could get into, there would be nothing I could do but support him. However, as accepting as I am, I don't want him in any situation that causes more stress than good. So if someone he had started developing feelings for; feelings he doesn't even realize he has yet, but oh yes, he has them; took something he said a little too harshly, and it was causing him extra anxiety, I don't think it'd be good on him. And if that other person cared about him, too, they'd accept his taunts for what they are- the boy pulling the girl's pigtail, or what have you. I heard you talking to Winry. Oh yes, I was listening. And I can tell from the way that you defended him, even while you're supposedly 'arguing', that you care. So do him a favor, kid. Forgive him. From what I've heard, you do owe him at least that much."

CHAPTER SIX: We see clips of the after school meetings and such, and watch as the Roy/Ed bond begins to solidify. The infamous dinner scene in which Darrell Mustang assaults Edward from every angle imaginable takes place, and finally, most absurdly of all… Roy's father gives his blessing on a union between Roy and Edward.

"You know how I feel about your ambiguous sexuality, Roy. I think it's trashy. Sinful. I raised you to believe in God and man and man and woman and man's duty to protect woman and woman's duty to pay man back with producing offspring. Your mother was an accepting woman, she balanced me out a lot. But now, even knowing what she thought, I can't restrict my thoughts on it. It's just who I am. I've always been outspoken, more so since Azalea died. You know that already. But I'm also honest as hell. So I'll tell you two things right now and I don't think you'll like either of them, but they'll be the truth and in my opinion that's what counts in this world. One is that I'm ashamed as a general rule of having a bisexual son. The second being that I wouldn't be ashamed of you being… bisexual with this Elric boy."

CHAPTER SEVEN: The Havoc/Winry/Alphonse love triangle is further explored, and Edward begins to doubt his ability to maintain an honest friendship with Roy. The culmination of all that is epic occurs when the Science Team final sees Edward trouncing Team Youswell. Congratulating him on his stunning victory is not, however, Roy, but a new love interest, who threatens to eclipse for Edward what Roy had been in his life up to this point. Except for the part where, you know, Edward is in love with Roy. Additionally, Fuery meets Rosé, in the crackpairing of the century, and falls head-over-heels.

Edward collapsed in the dark foyer in an empty home. Russell was most certainly not Roy. But he would have to do.

CHAPTER EIGHT: Roy is devastated when Edward breaks off their friendship to be with Russell, and he isn't the only one. Alphonse shows his bitter side once more as he watches his brother fail at life, or something like that. After an argument between the brothers, Winry is there to comfort Al, which loosens her resolve against romantic involvement. Edward, meanwhile, meets with Russell, who breaks up with him on the spot. In his grief he turns to Roy, who is gracious enough to take Edward in without too much of a struggle. Edward and Roy finally declare themselves and in the end slashhappy goodness comes and punches you in the face for a bit.

In any other situation, Roy would have found the reaction comical, As it was, he was just very stiff and nervous. It happened in a brief second. First he was standing, muscles contracted, looking nervous, and then a surge of determination possessed him and he seized Edward. Roy had, incidentally, imagined the first kiss several times. He crashed their lips together, and realized that nothing he'd thought up came close.

Author's Note: And because I did not open with my semi-customary author's note, by now you are indubitably wondering something along the lines of "WHERE THE GOD DAMN FUCKING ASS HELL IS MY FLUFF?" Well, I am here to admit to you, friend, that you are not getting much in the way of cuteness this chapter, besides a series of short vignettes I have written as a sort of interlude. Why all the fuss over a useless chapter? Why not just wait until Chapter Nine, which has been in progress longer than I even knew this "chapter" was going to exist? Because I needed to put more Damaged People lyrics up. Not really. No, actually, now that Roy and Edward are together, the overall plot is, what, exactly? We had minor character ends to tie, yes? But the major driving focus has resolved itself. As such, Part One of the epic Damaged People fanfiction is over, and we are now entering Damaged People: Part Two. What exactly does this mean? It means that Roy and Ed have found happiness, but does every relationship not have its bumps? It means that Havoc is starting to become increasingly distant with Winry, to what end the reader cannot be certain. It means Winry and Al are growing closer, but more than one hurdle may lie in their path to felicitous union. It means that Fuery and Rosé are going to learn true love, but the relationship that may seem to be the least important may end up fucking up everyone's life. There will be humor. There will be bishounen kissing. There will be angst. There will be violence, and threats of violence. Our friends' pasts are coming back to them at once, and not for the better. As such, it is only natural to expect death. Tragedy can also strike in new birth: who will get pregnant? Will it be Winry? Will it be Rosé? Will it be Hawkeye? Will it be Armstrong?! Or will it be a face that is revoltingly familiar, yet new in context? Relationships will shatter, new bonds will form. And one of our friends will not stick around for the procession. So many questions, but the real one here is: will you be able to keep up?

Damaged People Part Two. Ready or not, here it comes.

CHAPTER EIGHT POINT FIVE: The Past. (Note: Timeline is butchered, intentionally. Shoes random points of interest, some out of order.)

"Edward!" His mother calls over the roar of the waves on the beach. He replies with a speechless grin and a shrill cry of happiness as the baby boy chases hermit crabs across the beach. A rumble of thunder does not disturb his exploits, nor does the increased wind speed.

"Eddy!" Another, deeper voice joins his mother's, and this time baby Edward spins around in the direction of their beach house to see his father running to him.

"Pop!" Edward squeals, bouncing from leg to leg and clapping. It is the only word he knows how to say, and he's been saying it for about two weeks now.

"Eddy," his father admonishes, though Edward does not know what admonishment is. "How'd you get out here, Buddy?" He scoops up the toddler, who fists one chubby hand in a blonde beard and knocks his father's glasses askew with the other.

"Pop!" Edward reiterates as he is draped over his father's shoulder, and they are running back to the house. He makes a swooshing noise that his father realizes is meant to approximate the waves.

"No playing on the beach during a storm, Eddy. Sorry," Hoenheim says, knowing it does not matter, because Edward doesn't understand him. The latter's face has crumpled, though, and tears rivaling the rainstorm's are oncoming.

"Edward!" A very pregnant Trisha Elric screams with relief as Hoenheim scales the steps up to the front porch, two at a time, so as to avoid the rain. Edward screams with the loss of his hermit crabs. Trisha looks at her husband with wide eyes. "How'd he get out?"

"'Dunno," Hoenheim replies, looking concerned. "We must've left the screen door cracked, or-"

"Or," Trisha suggests, looking torn between horror and pride, "He's learned to turn doorknobs."

"Well," says Hoenheim slowly, knowing that he should choose his words carefully, knowing his wife's emotional state, "While I have no doubt that he could operate the door, considering his intelligence, I really don't think he's quite, er, tall enough. Yet."

Trisha sighs relief, and inwardly, Hoenheim mirrors the action. "You're right. I didn't think about that."

"Aw, Angel," he whispers, putting his arms around the twenty-year old, she still gripping their squalling son.

"I was so scared. I can't lose him, Hoenheim. Not after... not after... The others."

"Hey. We aren't going to lose him. We just need to be more careful. Now that he's growing up, Eddy's bound to be more curious. Let's just take this as a lesson learned, okay? Double check the doors from now on, and we'll be fine."

"Okay," she responded, tearfully. And then, "Oh!"

"What?" Hoenheim drew back from her quickly, looking alarmed.

"It's the baby. He's kicking." Trisha said, her eyes filled with wonderment. Her face split into a grin. "You sure you don't want to feel?"

Hoenheim shook his head, vehemently. Trisha laughed, calming some.

"Most fathers love that part."

"Not me," Hoenheim stated unnecessarily, thoroughly grossed by the affair. It just felt... wrong.

"Okay, okay. Come on, you goose." Hoenheim wondered if she was talking to him or her son. "We gotta get inside. Shh, shh." She said, this time assumedly to the din in her arms.

The family went inside and settled themselves on an old loveseat, Edward on his father's lap, in front of a television. As they watched a live performance of a distant acquaintance of Hoenheim's on solo concert the piano, Edward was pacified until he became attentive, listening to the keys and the chords and the occasional accompaniments of the violins. He even sang little notes along with a piece that his father sometimes played for the family.

"Missed a chord just there," Hoenheim commented idly, though his eyes reflected appreciation. "It was supposed to be A Minor."

"It isn't an easy piece to play," Trisha reminded him, and he nodded.

"You managed it just fine," He told her, and she laughed.

"At maybe half the proper tempo, and without over a million people watching me."

"But you didn't mess up."

"Lalala la laaa, la." Sang Edward quietly.

"Well, you could say that not being at the proper speed meant the entire piece was messed up," Trisha said, smiling.

"Mm. I think it sounds better that tempo, anyway," Hoenheim replied, and then there was a comfortable silence filled only by Edward's humming along with the television.

"I'm having a concert in the Central City in a few months," Hoenheim eventually said.

"Oh! Would you mind brining me?" Trisha asked, her eyes alighting with memories of growing up in the City.

"Actually," he said, turning to look at her over top of the head of the baby blonde, who stopped singing to try and figure out what was going on. "I was hoping you'd come on stage and play a number with me."

Trisha's eyes widened. "But- but Hoenheim, I don't know..."

"I've been teaching you for a year now, Trisha. And you've progressed more quickly than I've ever seen anyone take, especially at an adult age. We won't do anything terribly difficult. Maybe..."

"What about," she suggested, "Oh, Hoenheim, could we do Edward's song?"

Hoenheim was a little surprised. "It's a little longer than I had envisioned, but if you are up to it, I'd love to play that with you."

Trisha smiled pure sugar sweetness, and nodded. "That's it. That's the only piece I could ever play with you on stage. I can't wait."

Edward surveyed the exchange with a baffled expression on his face.

"I'm glad, Angel. I'm glad."

Later the same evening, the storm had blown out the power, and the three sat on the same love seat, Edward asleep on his father's chest, and Trisha snuggled up to her husband's shoulder, clutching a single muscled arm, her legs tucked beneath her.

"I thought of a name, today." Trisha whispered, staring fondly at the thirty-year-old's face as he studied his slumbering son.

"What?" He asked, not looking away from the boy.

"Christophe."

"Christophe, huh?"

"You don't like it?"

"I-," he considered, twisting his mouth contemplatively. "-love it."

"You do?" Asked Trisha excitedly. Hoenheim turned to her, grinning.

"I do," he said. "I really do."

They continued to grin brightly at each other, both thinking the same thing, until suddenly Hoenheim swooped forward and kissed her, hard, searing.

"Mm," Trisha said quietly as he pulled away and began to nip her jaw, and then onto her neck. Edward stirred a little, bringing their stolen moment to a halt.

"I think," Hoenheim suggested a bit huskily, "It's time we tried the crib again."

"He hates it, though, Hoenheim. He always gets so scared, to be alone," Trisha said, wanting privacy, but also concerned for her son.

"He's got to learn to sleep on his own eventually, Angel," he told her, and she nodded hesitantly.

They placed him in his crib, and then went to their own room for a blessed hour of what intimacy the pregnancy would allow, before being startled awake to desperate cries of "POP! POP!"

Ten-year-old Roy and his girlfriend, Madison, lounged despondently on a wooden picnic table while Gracia fretted and paced in front of them, wringing her hands.

"What if they expel him?" She asked for the tenth time.

"They won't," Roy replied.

"But what if they do?"

"Jesus, Gracia. Will you just calm down?"

"But he's been framed!" She screeched, and Roy shuddered. Gracia and Hughes had seemed like such normal people back in the first grade, and while Maes's particular brand of psychosis had developed, like his own, into rebellion, Gracia had taken the opposite route of inherent goody-two-shoes-ism; she was the top of the class, the sweetest and most naïve person in the school, and the biggest worrywart this side of twelve. Though he had developed strong, brotherly affection for Gracia that he could not dispose of, and would not for the world if he could, he was painfully aware of the dent on his reputation the girl had. It had been bad enough for Maes and he to have a female best friend in elementary school when she was still normal, and now that she had been branded a nerd by their peers, even Maes's and his popularity could not redeem her.

Still, Gracia was an intrinsic part of their trio in a way Madison never would be, nor any of Roy's girlfriends, for that matter. She was their mother-away-from-Mommy; the little sister Roy had never had and Hughes had more than enough of, anyway; the voice of reason to their hair-brained schemes for pissing of Principal Lester. She was their Gracia and they were her Boys, and that was the end of it, no matter what anyone else in their grade had to say about it.

"Grace, I sincerely doubt that anyone framed your boyfriend. He probably deserves whatever punishment he's getting." Madison said lazily, getting tired of the other girl's shrill outbursts. She glanced at Roy, looking for approval on his face, but he only scowled.

Grace was what everyone besides Hughes and Roy called Gracia, because a teacher had called her that in the second grade because she had forgotten Gracia's real name, and it had caught on. Gracia did not mind, even at times in her life preferred the mistake to its true counterpart, but in later years, when she stared at yearbook messages that began "Dear Grace," there was a deep appreciation for the two friends who had remembered who she really was.

"Actually, contrary to what seems to be popular belief, Maes is not a cheater. There is absolutely no way he did this." To Gracia, he added, "So they can't possibly convict him."

"And he's not my boyfriend," Added Gracia stubbornly.

"Yeah, sure," Madison said, stretching like a cat. She straightened her skirt and hopped up from the bench, dusting her bottom. "My mom is probably around front by now. You need a ride home?" She asked Roy in what, in their fifth-grade world, could be considered a sultry voice.

"No," Roy replied.

"Walk me to the car, then, at least," Madison demanded petulantly. What good was a boyfriend if he didn't fawn over Madison like her sister's boyfriend did over her sister?

"I better not," Roy declined without any real regret, but smoothing his voice in an already-expert manner. "Have to make sure Gracia doesn't go into conniptions over here."

Neither Gracia nor Madison knew what the word 'conniptions' meant, but both knew to be offended, Gracia that Roy would insinuate she needed watching over, and Madison that he would choose Gracia's company over her own. However, what Madison could do that Gracia could not was channel her anger in the direction it least deserved, so it was Gracia who received Madison's retaliation.

"Fine, babysit the loser, then, if you'd rather be annoyed to death than say hello to my mom. Call me later." She said sweetly, and attempted to kiss Roy, who sat statue-still with his arms crossed while she settled for his cheek. As she left, Roy announced significantly,

"Well, consider her gone."

"Roy, don't break up with her over me, not again," Gracia said in a small voice.

"Oh, don't be dense. That had nothing to do with you. She was being vindictive, and that's all there is to it."

Gracia marveled at how intelligent her friend always managed to sound, while all his peers bumbled around with words like too many marbles in their hands. "Maybe," was all she could say as she took Madison's place on the bench.

"Oh, Roy," Gracia moaned. "What has Maes gotten himself into this time?"

"I dunno, Gracia," he replied, putting his arm around his friend's shoulders, "But I'm certain he'd be pretty insulted at the notion that you give him so little credit in his ability to get himself out of trouble."

"I might have a bit more faith if you two weren't constantly ending up in the Principal's office," she replied without any warmth.

"Ah, Gracia," Roy mused, smiling a little. "When will you learn that the only way to have fun is to take a little risk now and then?"

The concert had gone exactly as scheduled, and the final number, Hoenheim's duet with about-to-burst Trisha, with little Edward dancing wherever his little legs wanted to carry him onstage, had received a tear-streaked standing ovation.

The ceremony in the theatre's lobby afterwards brought nothing but the most sincere comments of profound admiration for the performance, and even Trisha was complimented on her meager piano abilities.

It all came to an abrupt halt as Trish went into labour, right in the middle of the party, and Hoenheim had to rush her to the hospital before the driver could even be tracked down.

The guests left slowly, asking Hoenheim's manager to pass on well-wishes and gifts for the mother, and the mood light and buoyant at the ludicrousness of the babe's timing.

A single shot rang throughout the lobby, and then a second, a third, a fourth, and finally, a fifth.

Three men and two women, the last of the guests and one employee of the theatre, fell.

Later investigation would reveal that Geoffrey Hensley was a deeply disturbed man with a deep-seated hatred of the socioeconomic upper-class, which had left him unemployed because of company hand-changing, and soon thereafter divorced because of lack of financial stability at the age of twenty-three. He had gone to the theatre in both tuxedo and drunken stupor, remembering how his ex-wife had always dreamed of one day attending with himself, had sat through Hoenheim's performance, had seen the family, and the love, and the success that this man achieved at not much older than himself in the final piece, and had pulled out his gun and destroyed these people the way they had, in his mind, destroyed him. He shot Jodie Christiansen, the theatre employee, who suffered extreme leg pain for the rest of her life. He shot Missy China and Derek Hoffman, who were successful entrepreneurs, and though Derek went on entrepreu-ing, Missy had been shot in the face, and her disfigurement, even after reconstructive surgery, led her to heavily alcoholism. Worst of all, he shot Alphonse Knowles, an elderly government official known for supporting the creative arts in schools and an avid campaigner for relief aid for the destitute. Alphonse Knowles endured a painful two-hour battle at the hospital before he finally died. Not that Geoffrey Hensley would ever know or care about this; he shot himself in the head after the first four shots had been fired.

After six hours of labour and delivery ("A piece of cake, compared to Edward," Trisha would later remark), the youngest Elric was born, and Trisha and Hoenheim's tears of joy mingled with those of sorrow and regret.

The party had been going on all night, but showed no intent of slowing. Roy was busy charming the pants off of his girlfriend Julie when Maes sidled up to him, looking grim. He did not have to tell Roy; Maes saved that look for one person alone.

"Christ, where is she?" He broke off mid-sentence. Without offering an explanation to Julie, he followed Maes through the crowd.

Gracia was huddled in the back seat of Maes's car with her mascara running and Maes's jacket over her arms and knees, which were curled into a ball.

"Gracia?" Roy asked quietly. She scooted over in the back seat so he could sit next to her. "Lemme guess. Jerk up and left you again."

Gracia did not reply, only bit her lip and shoved some runny snot away from her nose. Hughes had gotten in on the opposite sideand put his arm around her waist, and she did not respond.

"It was worse than that, Roy," Hughes said quietly, fiercely, in a voice Roy did not recognize.

"What did he- Gracia, are you pregnant?" Roy asked, astonished. Gracia shook her head but did not offer an alternate explanation. Maes pursed his lips, and opened his mouth a few times to explain, before deciding the words would just not come. In lieu of a verbal account, he lifted part of his jacket away from Gracia, who did not try to stop him, but cast her eyes downwards and would not look at either of her best friends.

Roy saw freckles. Gracia's blouse- the one she'd saved up for with three month's paychecks from her afterschool waitressing gig, was torn from the neckline through the right sleeve. Around her upper arm were clearly defined bruise marks- in the shape of a hand that had gripped her. The dark patches continued across her chest from that and, he noticed for the first time as he gently tilted her face to face him (she still wouldn't meet his eyes), darkening a semi-circle on her jaw. Roy did not make a noise. He opened the door and got out of the car, closing the door softly behind himself. He walked away five calm paces before abruptly stopping and screaming at lung's capacity. No one could hear him over the music emanating from the house, but it didn't matter. If anything, he wanted to be heard. Make the world afraid, very afraid. Just as afraid as he was right now. Just as angry.

Nonsensible, he lashed out at a trashcan, which spilt its contents over the lawn, and then he went about defacing the mailbox.

"GOD-MOTHER-FUCKING-KILL-BASTARD," he screamed, kicking the trashcan. He heard the car door slam and then felt arms holding his arms behind him, effectively limiting his movement. In a fair fight in which both had their wits about them, Roy could have escaped Maes's grasp easily, but his rage made him clumsy, and he quickly stilled in his friend's arms.

"Where is he," Roy finally said lowly, absolutely still except for his lips. In many ways, Maes thought this ice cold venom in his voice was scarier than his lashing out at inanimate objects.

"There's no point. I already thrashed him all to hell. Left him in a dumpster."

"What, you didn't leave me any fun?" Roy asked, but though the words were a joke, there was only the same frigid monotone.

"Believe me, when I saw what was going on, you were the last person on earth I was thinking about," Maes muttered, releasing Roy. "Come back to the car. You made Gracia hysterical. We need to be focusing on her, not us, or that bastard. Not right now, anyway."

Roy nodded. "You're right." They got back in the car, Roy in the back, holding and making shushing noises to a now-sobbing Gracia, and Maes driving them away. He pulled into a drive-in theatre, paid the fee without asking what was playing, and parked the car. He got in back with his best friends and put his arms around Gracia also, both men holding their best friend as she cried herself to sleep.

KINDERGARTEN, CENTRAL ELEMENTARY. DAY ONE.

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALL SHORT?!"
Mass pulverisation.

Trisha sighs.
"Oh, Edward. Can you not wait until your mother leaves before picking a fight?"

Edward remembers a lot about his childhood, not all of it friendly. Even before the accident, the Elric brothers were not the most fortunate of children. Edward, like his brother, remembers a frequently ill mother, whose cancer had just gone into remission after a strenuous battle in chemotherapy at the time of the accident. Pinako had taken care of the brothers whenever their mother was admitted, which was frequently enough. It was a blessing that Trisha Elric had had the foresight to give Pinako permanent power of attorney over the boys, or they never could have stayed together after the tragedy. That such a measure had been taken, however, was indicative of the troubled life that they had led; the same life that Trisha lived no more.

Edward remembers an old prosthetic-legged Rockbell family dog, whose name has been lost to time, that he absolutely hated as a child because it was so large in comparison with himself, but that Alphonse delighted in for the same reason. It was, in retroflection, indicative of their natures as a whole: Edward could not bear to contend with anything that had the likelihood of overpowering him (he ran from Roy's friendship when he was afraid), while Alphonse just loved, unconditionally, without ability to restrain his feelings (he loved Winry, despite knowing that it was not the best decision about her he could probably make). Once, this dog bit Alphonse during a game that involved trying to utilize the dog as five-year-old Alphonse's trusty steed. The person to react most violently was not Alphonse, his mother, or even the owners of said beast; it was Edward. The fix-year-old saw the blood running down his younger brother's small hand as he ran to their mother, and Edward was livid. He attacked the already-agitated four-legged nemesis with a foot to his good front leg, and the dog ran away, whimpering.

Edward knew he would be in trouble for this action, and once he heard the dog would have to be put in a cast for weeks afterwards because of his retaliation, he also knew Winry would hate him. What he did not expect was Alphonse's reaction. Alphonse was enraged at Edward's interference, and his abuse of the poor creature that had been their constant companion.

"I don't understand it, Mama. I was just trying to protect Al,"

"The funny thing about protection, Edward," replied Trisha, scrubbing a dish with a cloth, "is that it rarely has anything to do with the person we're protecting. It's more about what you want than what they need."

"He or she needs," Edward corrected, brows furrowed, but walked away. He did not understand the lesson then.

In fact, some might say he never figured it out at all.

The Junior called Jean Havoc had a little sister who treated him like living feces and a mother that didn't give a damn, was all Riza really knew about her student's family life. She wouldn't have known that much, if it had not been for over hearing a couple of his friends discussing the matter during class time one day. As much as she tried not to let the image of cheerful Jean going home to hell from a family who took him for granted affect her, Riza felt compassion for the young man. She began silently forgiving him when he came in and fell asleep with dark circle sunder his eyes, and when she spied him outside the windows, looking far away and disturbed as he deeply dragged on a cigarette. To anyone else, including Havoc himself, Riza was the same austere teacher that she had always been to him, but within herself she felt the shift to admiration and pity as he took on a load heavier than any fifteen-year-old should have to carry. Her heart broke when she overheard the same friends saying that Havoc had made first string quarterback and would've probably made a scholarship to college, but he had to quit the team because his mother needed him to look after his sister. He was so bright, if unapplied, but even if he committed one-hundred percent, it wouldn't matter, because his family would just take whatever he happened to earn. Suddenly, Riza did not blame Havoc so much for just not caring, though she promised herself she would push him, anyway.

Actually, Riza was not completely certain why she cared quite so much. If it had been any other student, she probably could have easily kept her professional distance and justified to herself that it would all come out right in the ende, and was not her place to interfere anyway. But it being Jean- sweet, playful Jean who bantered and harmlessly flirted and grew on her more than any other student ever had or ever would- Riza found herself instead of calling down his friends for gossiping in class, listening in on their hushed conversations while looking preoccupied with grading papers.

This was how she found out that Jean and his mother spent an entire night screaming at each other over whether or not his new girlfriend were allowed to come meet the family; jean said he had promised the girl, and the mother dissented that she was in no mood to put up with waiting hand-and-foot on one of his little princess friends from uptown. Jean had argued, said she was important to him, and that they wouldn't stay long, only have dinner and then leave for a movie. But the mother screamed at the notion, and told him that if he was so eager to spend time with a rich little bitch like that snobby character, he could damn well leave. Havoc had confessed it all on the phone to one boy, Breda, and he told mutual a friend of theirs while they pretended to go over chapter review questions.

Jean Havoc came in later that day looking like a ghost, and Riza's chest throbbed. Though he was the first person in the room, he refrained from his usual banter and sat heavily down at his desk. During her lesson, Hawkeye gave him continuous glances, and she was not the only one to do so. His blank stare and empty presence were disturbing, and compared with the buoyant clown that occupied that seat whenever his presence graced them at all, the current entity was a mere corpse. After class, Hawkeye called the young man back to her desk with intention of drawing out the source of his anguish firsthand, so she could act of relieving it.

"Jean, is everything alright?" Riza asked tentatively.

"Not really," he replied to her surprise, running a hand over his own face. "I sort of just broke up with my girlfriend. I'm sorry, I ddin't catch any of your lesson, either. I'm going to have to get the notes from someone, I guess."

Hearing him apologise to her, when she was the one who had failed to protect him caused her no end of inner turmoil. Attempting to make up for the guilt, Riza offered her services in the most obvious way she saw fit.

"If you want, you could come after school, and I'll go over the chapter with you personally," she said kindly. He brushed the offer away, though.

"Thanks, but I can't."

Hawkeye frowned. "Something more important to do than study, Jean?"

"Not really," admitted Jean. "I just- my sister has a recital later. She doesn't really even want me there, judging by the fact that she did not tell me about it, but, I don't know. I just sort of wanted…"

He was leaning on her desk now while she stood behind it, and he was already taller than her and had the physique of an adult male. No wonder he had gotten that prime sports postion; Jean Havoc really was in amazing shape for a teenager.

And as he continued rambling in a sleep-deprivation-induced haze, Riza found herself sliding a hand over his own broader, tanner one, and meeting his dark eyes with her own chocolate ones. "I understand." She said. His face unclouded for a moment, and she was seriously afraid (and pleasantly anticipant, at the same time), of him trying to kiss her, but he simply removed his hand from under hers and nodded, before walking away.

"By the way," he mentioned, pausing in the doorway, "Good luck at your regional competitions this weekend, in case I forget to mention it."

And that is the exact moment she fell in love with him.

Roy was late from taking his girlfriend Gina back to her parents. He was supposed to have been in ninety minutes ago, so he climbed the lattice to his window, pulled himself onto the six-inch ledge, pushed in the screen, and with practiced ease settled himself on his own carpet flooring before searching for his lamp in the dark with his hand. Before he could find it, a voice drifted to his ears, perfectly friendly, but they nearly made him jump out of his skin.

"Good evening, Roy."

His heart beat reset itself, yet Roy was not consoled. The voice, especially speaking to him in that manner considering the circumstances, made his body break into uncontrollable cold shivers.

"Dad, hey, I really need to talk to you about getting another key," Roy began quickly, hoping against hope…

"Oh, Roy, don't be silly, your key is right in your wallet, the same place it always is." Said his father pleasantly, and Roy did not like that he could not see the man, did not like it at all.

"…I…" Roy swallowed. His father had not hit him since he was a boy, and even then it had only been strictly disciplinary, but he was also fairly certain that most children in this day and age were not disciplined with barbed switches. Now, though, he though maybe his father would make a special exception. If there was one rule you did not break in the Mustang household, it was curfew. "So are you going to beat me, or what."

"No, Roy, I am not. And I'm going to tell you why. I know that if I hurt you it will just make you resent me, and you will be even more likely to rebel against my authority in the future. So I will not lay a finger on your goddamned spoiled little head."

Roy was thoroughly chilled. "What, then?"

"I'm going to let your mother do it."

Roy blinked, though in the darkness it had no effect. "You're going- what?"

"I said," and the lights turned on, and he saw his mother at the light switch, looking terrified, though determined, and Darrel sitting on his bed, cross-legged. "Your mother will be taking care of your punishment."

"But, Mom wouldn't," but seeing his mother's face, so guilty, yet so resolute, pained and disgusted with herself all the while, he was not so certain. In fact, his certainty level was, on a scale of one to ten, at about a negative two.

"Good night, Roy," Darrel replied, standing up and leaving the room. Azalea set her brown eyes on her son and she whispered, so that Roy only knew what she had said long after she had said it, "Why did you have to do this to us, Roy?"

And then, louder, in a steely voice that wasn't quite the confidence of a military man seeing to it that his troops at home weren't getting out of line, "Bend over, son."

She approached with a paddle that Roy had known well as a child.

Well, goddamn.

The bastard had certainly outdone himself.

Edward, Alphonse, and Winry lied on their backs in the grass, staring at the clouds.

"That one looks like a strawberry," Winry said.

"That one looks like a goldfish." Said Alphonse.

"You think they all look goldfish." Winry, again.

"They do," Alphonse assured.

"Except for that one," Edward piped up. "That one looks like a homeless man running away from a bad paperback novel with legs and an ugly extraterrestrial prostitute."

Roy put his head gently on Maes's shoulder. They were both very, very drunk, and very sentimental. Maes was popping the question to Gracia tomorrow, and they were both deeply aware of how much this would change everything.

"You know," Roy said confidentially, "It could have just easily gone the other way, you know. Instead of you and her ending up together."

"What," Hughes asked blurrily, "you mean you and her together? Yeah, I guess so. Do you regret that it didn't?"

"That's not what I meant," Roy contradicted. "I meant you and me."

"Oh." Maes paused and took another swig of whatever brand of alcohol they were on now, at two in the morning. And then, "Do you regret that it didn't?"

"I don't know," Roy said, nuzzling his friend's neck in a way that only drunkenness allowed.

"What about- er, Gary?"

"He's nothin'. I think I like girls more, anyway."

"Yeah, yeah, so do I," Hughes said blurrily, and then put the alcohol on the side table, wrapped an arm around Roy, and fell asleep, drooling on the white pillowcase.

"Yeah, I thought you probably did," Roy answered, remembering times he could've asked but already knew the answer. Hughes could never have really ended up with Roy, all along. He had always been, and always would be, Gracia's.

"Rosé, I thought I told you that you couldn't hang out with him anymore."

"Cool it, Cain. I was just walking her home to make sure she got here okay." Russell intercepted.

"I didn't ask you, faggot." Cain snarled.

"Cain, please," Rosé pleaded.

"Forget it, Rosé. Sorry to have intruded. 'Bye."

"Yeah, you're gonna be sorry," Cain muttered as Russell left. "So what was that really all about, Whore?"

"I swear, I didn't ask him to, he just came, and I asked him to go back. He's just trying to be nice. He just cares about me."

"Cares about you?!" Cain roared. "Tell me, Rosé, does he care about you…" he snatched her close and place a rough kiss on her lips and stroked her crotch through her dress, "like I care?"

"No," Rosé whispered, breathless, and they went into the house and had sex twice before Cain fell asleep, snoring.

When later asked why Rosé had not wanted to place charges against Cain for his abuse, she replied simply, "Because he loves me."

"Hell-o, Ms Hawkeye," a familiar voice drawled, and junior Jean Havoc sauntered up to her desk.

"Have that make-up work for me, Jean?" she asked.

"Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me," he said, retrieving a pile of papers from his bookbag.

"Good work, and only," she checked her watch, "five minutes until I would have had to declare it unacceptable."

"What can I say? There was a lot to go through. This isn't my only class, sadly enough." He grinned.

"Well, this should teach you not to get laryngitis again anytime soon," Riza replied dryly, quite aware that Havoc was nowhere near a sick bed and instead taking smoke breaks and then forging impeccable notes from his mother to excuse himself from class. He had even waved to her from the sidewalk outside the window during the period he'd had her class once, and she'd only rolled her eyes and continued her lesson.

"Nooo, but I hear there's a strain of mononucleosis running around amongst the freshman regiments," he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Sorry, Havoc; you generally have to have a partner to get the kissing disease." She replied in the same dehydrated manner.

"Oh, you wound me, making me sound like such a fool with your biting comebacks," he drawled.

"You don't need my help for that, Jean," Hawkeye assured her student.

"Riza, Riza, Riza," he sighed dramatically. "One of these lifetimes you'll realize that words are sharper than knives, my dear."

"Go to class, Jean." She was flustered at being referred to with terms of endearment, never mind the thrill hearing her first name come out of his mouth provided.

Havoc raised a thick blonde eyebrow. "Miss Hawkeye," he said slowly, "It's the end of the day."

Hawkeye was even more upset at having made such a stupid error due to her fanciful attractions to the younger man. "Go home, then."

"Okay," Jean agreed without hesitation, grinning, and began to leave so suddenly that Riza blurted out "Wait," before she thought about it.

"Yes?" He replied innocently.

"You forgot to put your name on this," Riza finished lamely, indicating his make-up work.

"Riza," he replied, taking a step back towards her desk, then stopping, and turning back around with a grin. "You'll take care of that for me, won't you?"

He left, and what Hawkeye really felt like doing was throwing the whole damn packet away, just to show him who was really in control, but, of course, she did not do that. Instead she pulled out a pen and scrawled elegantly in the top-right corner, Jean Havoc.

He had been a college professor, and she had been a young university hopeful, on a tour for the weekend. Both renowned for their intellect in their circles, both captivatingly pretty, and both sporting that particular aura of confidence that can be perceived from across a crowded room, it was only natural that the two should lock gazes. He broke off in his lecture, mesmerized, for a full half a second (a record of speechlessness for Hoenheim Elric). She was just as instantly taken, although it was harder for her to acknowledge, especially as she felt the arm of her four-year boyfriend, Timothy Granger, slip around her waist possessively. Perhaps he, too, had noticed the factional moment of time that had elapsed in which the two most compatible souls in a decade's list of romances had chanced meet, but if he sensed such a meeting, the only emotion it inspired was wicked jealousy. As Hoenheim continued the effects of a composer's work on the sixteenth century's formulaic opera, Trisha developed a sudden interest in music that she had never before noticed, as such pastimes had never been cultivated in her home.

"Tim," Hoenheim greeted his student after class.

"Professor Elric," Timothy returned, somewhat warily, but hiding his apprehension well. "This is my girlfriend, Trisha Montgomery."

"Pleased to meet you," Trisha said confidently, putting out a hand to shake. She was caught off guard when Hoenheim received his hand with both of his and lowered his face to place a light kiss.

"And yourself, Miss Montgomery," he said, charmingly.

Trisha was amazed, but a far cry from amused. "It's the twentieth century, Professor," she said, and though her tone was light, her words were biting. "When a woman is introduced, you can treat her as an equal, and not as someone who is wont to collapse from her own frailty at any moment. A handshake will do."

Professor Elric was showed no hint of surprise, nor remorse, and as he replied, his eyes were twinkling. "Humor me, Miss Montgomery. I am, after all, a bit older, and old-fashioned besides. I assure you no insult is intentional."

Trisha frowned, and Timothy was torn between relief at her rebuke of his professor's flirtations and embarrassment of her own audacity.

"So what bring Miss Montgomery into town, may I ask?" Elric continued, as though the awkward exchange had not take place at all.

"She's an up-and-coming college Freshman, and Gateiron is one of her top choices," Timothy replied, unable to keep the pride from his voice. Trisha still refused to speak, or even look at the twenty-six-year-old instructor.

"Freshman? How old are you, Miss Montgomery? You certainly do not look old enough to be attending university." And whether or not this was a jab at her impertinent demeanor, only he would ever know. Trisha eyed him resentfully.

"Old-fashioned courtesy dictates that you never ask a lady her age, Professor." She replied in a clipped voice.

"Oh Trisha, stop," Timothy scolded, embarrassment finally winning out over his enjoyment of seeing himself being chosen over his notoriously flirtatious teacher. "She's seventeen, sir."

"They just keep breeding them smaller and smaller these days. You must have been the envy of all your friends at school. My younger sister would have killed for a frame like yours." Hoenheim observed approvingly.

"I was homeschooled." Trisha commented shortly. There was a thirty-second pause in which Timothy looked exasperated, Trisha maintained her agitated expression, and Professor Elric grinned congenially and even hummed half a tune as he looked around the now-empty lecture hall.

"Well, I certainly hope to see you joining the Freshman ranks next year, Miss Montgomery." Hoenheim said pleasantly. "Not, if you two will excuse me, I have a date that I'm already running a bit late to. See you Wednesday in class, Timothy, and Trisha, it was charming meeting you, my Dear." And with that he was gone.

"Timothy," Trisha said sadly, "I really don't think I can come to college here. Not if all the Professors are like that."

"What do you mean?" Timothy asked, startled at this turn of events. "Hoeheim's alright. He didn't mean anything by kissing your hand, Trish."

"He's a pompous idiot." Trisha declared, turning towards the door. "Besides, I already have a boyfriend."

What that had to do with anything, Timothy was afraid to consider.

Kain was easily, he noticed to his discomfort, the smallest boy in the class. He'd gotten used to this over the years, but at the beginning of every school semester he foolishly allowed himself to hope that his eyes would alight on a smaller specimen of his grade level than himself. In eighth grade, it had not been quite so bad, because there were three grade levels of smaller boys to detract from his particular scrawniness, but now that he was a Freshman, the realization of his own diminutive stature would pang like an old wound reopened.

C lunch was a troublesome spot. None of his old friends had the same lunch, which was strange, because it wasn't as if he were so unpopular that there weren't many of them to go around. All the same, it looked as though Serendipity had frowned at him yet again, and Kain decided to head over to an empty table and let it fill around him, hoping that he could befriend someone before long. He really meant no harm at all, you see.

"Hey, kid," someone rewarded his efforts with a cruel interruption. "You ain't an upperclassman."

"No," Kain said slowly around a bite of bologna and cheese sandwich, the same lunchmeat he'd preferred since he was seven.

"What, being a smart ass? Get up. Freshmen," the newcomer rolled his eyes to the others. The others sniggered.

"E-e-excuse me, didn't realized this was reserved seating," Fuery babbled, picking up his belongings and moving away.

"Hey, kid," another voice soon called, and Fuery groaned inwardly. What was he doing wrong this time?! Oh, accursed C lunch protocol!

"Y-yes?" Fuery replied in the direction of the voice. A broad, cigarette-tinted grin met him, along with a chubby smirk and sundry other characters' more-or-less invitational gestures.

"Come here," the firs voice said again, and the blonde who looked like he was probably a smoker revealed himself as its origin.

"Okay," Fuery mumbled, very careful not to stammer.

"That was a gutsy move, my man. You're lucky those guys didn't skin you alive." One of his cohorts complimented.

"I- er. I didn't know," Fuery stammered guiltily.

"Oh, come on. Don't act like you didn't know that that's been the Yoki gang's table since the beginning of time. Event the Fresshies know that," another inputted, grinning.

"The- you mean, that was the…" Fuery became very pale.

"You really didn't know?" Asked another, wide-eyed. Fuery shook his head, stunned, and suddenly very thankful to be alive, and relatively uninjured, besides his pride. There was a deep silence, which was cracked when the first boy burst into laughter.

"Oh, jeeze. What the hell is wrong with you, kid? Here, pull up a chair. What's your name?" he asked, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Kain," Kain replied, torn between unease and relief to have found what could very unprobably but still potentially develop into friendship. It was somewhere to sit, anyway. "Kain Fuery."

"Well Fuery, I'm Havoc, and this is Breda, and this is Martel, Dorochet, Bido, and Loa. Don't get too attatched to those four though; their Seniors." He added, confidentially.

"So you're… what?" Fuery asked, referring to the figures he now knew as Havoc and Breda.

"Not far above you, actually. Sophomores." Havoc said. Though he was one of the youngest, he seemed to also be the leader of the group.

"Well, that's cool," Fuery said awkwardly. Over the year he would sit by these six people every day, and against Havoc's advice, grew very fond of the Seniors. When they left, and a year passed in which the remaining three of the old gang still hung out for the semester that they had lunch together again, and then Havoc sat with his friends and Fuery with his for the second semester when Breda had a different lunchtime and the two of them were not enough company, nor compatible enough in the other's social spheres to stay together, Fuery felt as though four pieces of himself had graduated and gone to seek their fortunes in the wide world. The hurt was a little softened when Jean Havoc's new girlfriend joined their family, and then her friend (and coincidentally, as of shortly before, his own) Edward joined, and his life once again seemed filled with the same companionship as before. Meeting Rosé had never been part of the plan. Falling in love with her had never been in the schedule. And suddenly, seeing the same four faces across the table every day, but never the face of the one girl he wanted to see, was completely and utterly inadequate.

Alphonse sat up and looked around the room. He gripped the low-hanging metal bars, one of many sets that Pinako, in her infinite welding expertise, had installed around the home, and in his room particularly, so that he could be independent. Using his arm strength alone, Alphonse lifted himself up and dropped into his wheelchair, which was right next to the bed. He rolled over to his closet, and using a pole with a wire at the end that clothing retailers used to reach hangers above reach, he selected a sweater and a pair of pants. But before he would change, Alphonse made a point to roll over to a bar ladder mounted to his wall, which led to a larger, higher mounted bar. Once he had successfully managed to grab onto this bar, Alphonse began the rigorous task of pulling himself up and down, willing his dead weight to cooperate as he exercised. After ten minutes, Alphonse was in danger of falling off from having his hands too slippery with perspiration (it would not be the first time, but sometimes Edward did not rise until late in the morning, and Alphonse did not like struggling to crawl back to his wheelchair if he could avoid it), so he dropped into the expertly-positioned wheelchair and stretched for a few moments before turning to his hand weights, which he utilized for closer to fifteen minutes before sliding onto his bench-press station (he wondered wryly how many boys his age had one of these in their bedrooms) and worked until he was in pain, and could not really remember how long he'd been at it. After this ritual was complete, the same way it was completed every morning, Alphonse clambered awkwardly back into the chair, rolled to his bed to grab his pre-selected clothing, and then down the hall, to take a hot shower.

EXCLUSIVE PREVIEW: CHAPTER NINE.

"Damn it, Winry! Has it occurred to you that I can't possibly help if I don't know what it is you need me to help with?"

Winry didn't reply, only turned a little to the left and pretended to eye how the dress would look over her waist once on. Finally, trying to sneak a glance to see how angry Ed was, she inadvertently caught the latter's eye. "I'm having trouble with Havoc," she admitted.

"Oh, god, here it goes," Ed groaned.

"He's been… weird, lately," Winry continued, heedless of Ed's sarcasm.

"And this is any different from the usual?" Ed replied acridly.

"Yes, it is, actually," Winry snapped, feeling impatient with the boy's behavior. "He's normally a very normal, cool boyfriend. Until…"

"Until?" Edward pried, unable to feign disinterest out of brotherly concern for his best friend.

"He thinks I'm in love with Alphonse," Winry said hesitantly.

"Oh. I see." Edward's lips compressed into a thin line.

"Yeah." Winry said awkwardly, now staring at the floor. "It's… yeah."

"Well, I still don't see what this has to do with me. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?" Edward replied with an apathetic shrug.

Winry took deep breaths. "Just come with me and observe. See if you can see what I'm talking about; see if he seems attracted to anyone who isn't me in particular, or if it's all in my head."

Edward now has to choose: loyalty to his brother, or his best friend? And he is not the only one who has a big decision. Can Havoc salvage his relationship with Winry, knowing he has feelings for Riza?

And there is Roy. Lots of him.

So look forward to the next chapter. Review if you're excited! I know I am!

I hope this doesn't suck. I am so excited to be finished with this chapter that I am submitting it without beta or much proofreading.

-TVG.