Sí, estoy horrible. Cierto. Estoy muy horrible. Soy una persona que posterga todo. Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento... :(
I'm a horrible procrastinator. Forgive me? You don't have to. I'm awful at managing time. Sorry… But, to make up for it, I believe this is the longest chapter so far. And I still hope you enjoy it. Titulado: ғᴜɴᴄɪᴏɴᴇs – artificiales.
But thanks, awesomenaruto, for always betareading my work. :)
|Setting: Canon. Amestris.
|Time: 1913, early spring. April 3rd.
|Edward Elric: No automail. Pickpocket and 14 year-old chimera.
|Alphonse Elric: No armor. Pickpocket and 13 year-old chimera.
|Roy Mustang: The Flame Alchemist. Colonel.
|Maes Hughes: Lieutenant Colonel. Husband to Gracia.
|Gracia Hughes: Wife to Maes.
|Elicia Hughes: 4 year-old daughter to Gracia and Maes.
|All characters retain their respective ages.
|All keep their original appearances from the first anime—for hair color—and personalities.
~ T S N
Title Subject To Change
-TʜᴇSʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢNᴇᴋᴏ-
.: 14 :.
s ᴛ ɪ ʟ ᴛ ᴇ ᴅ – r o l e s
[Two hybrids and the instructed]
"Where do you think she learned to cook like that?" Al quietly asked in reference to Ms. Royal and the meal they'd just eaten.
Ed shrugged, eyes on the fire before him. Then, bringing his mind back to the world again, he looked at Al and mouthed, "What does it matter?"
Alphonse bit his lip lightly. "I was just thinking… You remember how Mom used to make food for us like that? It makes me wonder how she learned, who taught her. Is it always just passed on from mother to daughter? Yet, those recipes change a little as they're passed form person to person and you end up with so many different tasting things. Did they all start form just a few foods? And how does someone automatically know what tastes best with certain foods while others don't have a clue? I don't think you or I could cook that well. What d'you think?"
Edward shrugged halfheartedly and turned his attention back to the source of heat before them, resting his chin on his shirt-covered knees. His head hurt.
"You know, you could at least say something once in a while, Brother." Ed shifted his eyes over to his brother and let the corner of his mouth twitch up. "I don't mean literally. But couldn't youact like you're interested in what I'm saying? I feel like I'm talking to a wall."
The blond nodded, suppressing a shiver along with the urge to wipe his running nose. Instead, he would just bury his nose against his knees and wait for it to stop. He understood that the act of eating had made his little brother feel much better—it had done the same for him, too—but he'd really appreciate it if Al would stop talking.
"Am I really that boring to listen to?" Ed shook his head, eyes forward. "…Liar," the boy accused, letting himself droop sideways to lean his head on Edward's shoulder.
Edward saw the goldenrod-colored ear out of the corner of his eye and pursed his lips with an idea. Tensing his sore neck muscles enough to turn his head a tiny bit, the elder boy blew gently at the ear. It twitched rapidly for a second at the current of air. Ed smiled secretively and did it again. He got the same reaction along with Alphonse shifting with distracted irritation.
It took another two times for Al to catch on and pull his head away. "Hey, stop it," he said with a disapproving wrinkle of his brow. Ed smiled and ruffled Al's hair. The younger boy pouted playfully while his tail swiped the floor as if expecting more mischievousness. Again, Ed buried his nose in the shirt Mustang had lent him. "Brother, do you think Mr. Mustang is still trying to kill us?"
Edward closed his eyes and lifted his shoulders to show indecision, before tipping his head to the side a little and nodding lightly, facing the fireplace once again. For all he knew, the reason he felt so bad right now was because that creep and poisoned his food. His mind, though, was too muggy to properly look back and remember the course of their meal and notice any opportunity that the man might have had to do anything to his food…
"Why?" Opening his eyes, Ed stood up, muscles in his legs aching anew. As he wearily stepped over to the couch, Al asked behind him, "What're you doing?"
Sitting down, Ed forced his expression to one of nonchalance. "It's not as hard as the floor," he whispered back. Al's grayish eyes flicked over his sibling with inquisitiveness. With a beckoning smile, he countered, "But it's warmer over here."
"All the more for you," Ed whispered back while he situated himself, pulling his knees up and under his shirt.
The look on Al's face after that was of something the older Elric would almost call disappointment. But he couldn't gather why Alphonse would be looking at him like that. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Mustang watching him. The guy was seated in a recliner, feet propped up, and those papers in his hands. Could he not go without them for one single hour?
He tossed the man a dirty look. This seemed to work, as the obsidian eyes directed themselves back at the paper.
Ed wanted to close his eyes. But not in front of Al and Mustang. He rubbed at his nose. His sense of smell had pretty much died on him. Sure, it had been rather untrustworthy the last few days, but he'd felt much better yesterday. Today, however, it had worsened bit by bit. Everything, actually, had felt worse and worse. His head and neck, arms and feet…
There were those eyes again, watching. Childishly, and in hopes of getting the guy resume his prior activity, Edward stuck out his tongue. While this action did make his throat hurt a bit, it also produced the desired effect.
But ten minutes later, Ed noticed Mustang's eyes on him once more. Why did the man seem to be interested in him?
The teen glared at him again, wanting the man to direct his attention elsewhere.
So he could relax.
Close his eyes.
Let go of the detached expression he was forcing his features into.
Lie down, curl up, maybe sleep…without Al or Mustang being able to catch him with his guard down.
He wanted to blow his nose, he realized and wiped it across his sleeve like he had done at least ten times already. He caught the quick flick of the Alchemist's eyes in his direction. Ed flashed another mean look, but it was fringed with more impatience than he had wanted.
He wished he could tell the guy to stop, stop looking at him! Ask him why, make him stop. However, he could do no such thing. The only solution he had was to pull his knee up and drape his arm over it, obscuring his face. Hopefully, the dark haired man wouldn't be reading his body posture.
It wasn't long later that Mustang rose from his armchair and headed into his kitchen. There were a few, unidentifiable noises from within, and then the adult reemerged into the living room.
The grown-up looked to the teenager, as if waiting for some reaction. Ed wouldn't give on. So he just pulled his shoulder up to hide his face; it was easier when he didn't constantly have to keep looking like he felt fine. Still, he left enough room below his arm to be able to keep an eye on the two, not willing to leave them unsupervised. From where he sat, Edward watched suspiciously as the alchemist handed Alphonse a rag that seemed to contain a small ball of something; probably ice.
I think you're supposed to use this," said the man.
"Thanks," the young boy replied with after a moment's hesitation. He took the offered ice pack and applied it accordingly.
"Sure."
Al stared up at Mustang. Mustang turned away, returning to his chair.
Alphonse's shoulders slumped.
Silence reigned once more and Edward drew the sleeve of his shirt across his nose again. He resisted the urge to sniff hard; that would only alert the room's other occupants to his discomfort. And he was putting his all into preventing that.
As if to challenge this, though, Colonel Mustang appeared to be a little too interested in the older of his two charges. Why couldn't the man find interest in what Alphonse was doing? Al had nothing to hide and, in fact, seemed quite lonely without someone to carry on a conversation with. Two birds with one stone.
But no, the colonel had to be curious with the elder boy.
Yet again, the adult's gaze had wandered over to the blond chimera. Ed bared his teeth this time, letting out an angry huff that rang of ire and aggravated frustration.
The eyes went back to where they belonged and Edward turned his back so as to prevent any further interactions. What was going on in the man's head? Did it even matter?
No. What held most of the older Elric's attention at the moment were his sore and aching muscles, his dry throat, fatigued limbs, and headache throbbing in his skull. Stupid cold wouldn't go away fast enough.
The teen could feel and count every beat of his heart as it pounded away. He could even hear it. His head pounded again and again…and again…and again…relentlessly. Placing his hand to his temple, the hybrid located a vein. He laid his finger along it, eyes closed, and felt as it pulsed with each heartbeat. He was exhausted from this façade.
If only he could rest…
The blond didn't know exactly when he had fallen asleep. But he knew when he woke up. Mustang was standing over him, causing the teenager to recoil in disconcerted alarm.
"You're just making this harder for everyone," came a belittling remark from the colonel as he looked down at Ed.
Still trying to determine his bearings, Ed attempted to form a query, but was soon reminded of muteness bestowed on his vocal chords currently. As he attempted to rise, the elder of the two boys felt something against his shoulder and turned to see Al there, gently forcing him back down.
"It's alright," Alphonse assured with a small smile. Then the blond felt something cool touch his forehead. Whipping it back around—which, Ed decided, he didn't want to do again anytime soon—Edward found Mustang's hand retreating to the man's side. A disapproving look was set on his face.
"You're supposed to tell me if something's wrong. Is that too much to ask, or did your brain fall out of those big ears of yours?" The question was scathing and Ed found a snarl forming on his lips.
But before he could form a whispered reply, Al spoke up in a gentler tone, "Brother, why were you trying to hide it? It's not like I'm going to get mad at you for feeling bad when you're sick."
Ed disliked how Mustang was addressing him but, worse, was how Alphonse was speaking to him. At least with the angry tone he could respond in kind. But with Al's understanding, concerned, and unintentionally-demeaning way of speaking left Ed with no easy response.
The alchemist's accusation seemed to be the one Ed was more willing to respond to. But would he really chose to converse with the stranger over his own brother?
He felt trapped.
Between Mustang's unfamiliar persona and Alphonse's degrading one. He didn't want his little brother to show concern for him, especially in front of Colonel Mustang. Which left him with neither option.
So he simply buried his head in his arms.
"Ed?" It was Al's voice. The younger's hand was on Ed's upper arm, jostling it slightly.
Edward let out a puff of air through his nose in acknowledgement to what Al was saying. Though, this brought about the need to wipe his nose once more.
"Geez, kid, you know there're better things for that than the sleeve of one of my shirts," spoke Mustang in a gruff way. Ed felt something lightly land on his head. He reached his fingers up, pulled the object down, and examined it. It was a handkerchief. Eagerly taking and using it, Ed found his nose feeling quite a bit better before it ever crossed his mind to refuse the item.
Staring at it, Ed wondered if Mustang wanted the handkerchief back or not.
Ed wasn't going to ask; he couldn't, anyway. So he just stayed as he was, staring at the used piece of fabric on his hand.
This was strangely upsetting to him. He felt like he was losing control of some things. Many things. But he didn't know what he was doing wrong.
There he was, trapped between Mustang's petulance and Al's solicitousness, and feeling sore and weary. He was sure he looked like a little kid in this position, and yet, he didn't know of any other action to take; he didn't know what to do if he chose to raise his head and face this unexplainably distressing situation. He'd just be a loss.
Pride was battling against pride.
So he chose the option with the more appealing outcome: sleep.
Remaining in that position, face directed downward and hidden by his arms, Edward listened to Mustang mumble something about teenagers and their moods. There was a tired sigh, then the adult left the boys. But Al stayed with him. The younger tried to talk with his sibling a bit in the beginning. However, his attempts died away as Ed kept shrugging away the few spoken words in a way that conveyed he didn't want to talk about anything.
He just wanted to think. To sort out this confusion that was forming within him.
And, while those types of complex ponderings were best discerned alone, Edward was grateful for Al's company.
"You seem to have something on your mind, dear," Gracia commented to her husband. Hughes glanced up, realizing that this was at least the third such time that he'd spaced out. He gave his wife a sheepishly apologetic smile.
"Sorry," he offered.
Gracia sat down on the couch beside Maes. "Does it have anything to with the work that kept you away overnight?"
Maes blinked, but then gave his wife a rueful arching of one eyebrow. "Am I that easy to see through?"
"For me you are." The affirmation was accompanied with the woman placing her hand on Maes's lower arm. "Anything you want to talk about?"
"Nah," the man said, running his fingers through his hair, "it's not anything you need to be burdened with."
"If you're not willing to share your problems with the woman you're married to, and then what will you ever do?"
"It's not like that," Maes amended. "Just…some issues at work, is all."
"Are you not allowed to talk about it?" Gracia asked understandingly.
Maes sighed wearily. "Not exactly…"
"Then what—"
"Mommy, Mommy! Daddy!" cried Elicia, running into the living room. A look of horror was spread across her rosy little cheeks. "Mishter Bunny fell into the potty!"
"He what?" asked both Hughes parents in unison.
"He fell into the potty! And now he'sh getting all wet!" She sounded desperate as she wailed, "He'sh gonna drown!"
"I'll fix it," Maes said with a sigh, pushing himself up from the couch.
"No, I'll do it," Gracia corrected. She gave her husband a knowing look. "You go use the phone. Don't act like you're surprised; you've been staring at it all day like you were expecting a call."
"Mommy, come on! Hurry!" Elicia began tugging on her mother's arm, pulling her along with urgency.
"Alright, sweetie. I'm coming. Now why on earth did you have Mr. Bunny near the potty?"
"Becaushe he hadda go!"
Gracia's following admonishment sounded down the hallway as the two ladies left. Maes was already at the phone, ringing up Roy's number while giving an unrelieved appreciative smile in the direction of the hallway.
It took a little while for someone to pick up on the other end. But then Hughes heard his friend's voice through the receiver, asking to know who was calling.
"Hiya, Roy," Maes greeted jovially. "How're things over at your place?"
"Hughes?" A sigh. "As well as can be expected."
"You holding up alright?"
"Yeah, just fine." It wasn't hard to detect the sarcasm lacing the colonel's voice.
"Come on, Roy, it can't be that bad," Maes goaded, turning around a bit so that he faced the window.
"I never said it was."
"You sure sounded like that it was."
"Don't assume."
"Well, in that case, you wanna tell me how things are going? You managing?"
"I already told you that I was."
"How well?"
"I'll live 'til you come and take them off my hands."
"Don't be so dramatic, Roy. They're just kids. What all has happened since I left?"
"Well, to start with, the older one won't let me get within two feet of his brother without flipping out. The younger one isn't as much of a pain, but he was the one who had us up past midnight when he wet the bed." Hughes gave a sympathetic grimace. "So that meant running them a bath, changing the sheets, and waiting around for them to get finished. And, when they finally were, they complained about the clothes I let them borrow—but it wasn't like they could sleep in their old ones. Then, this morning, the younger one wanted something to eat. Of course, the older wouldn't let him near the food; kept insisting that I'd poisoned it. He thinks I poison everything."
"Have you gotten them to eat anything yet?" Hughes asked, concerned.
"Yeah. Lily brought some soup over earlier. They had that."
"'Lily'?"
"Lily Royal, my neighbor." When Hughes didn't reply, Roy spoke again, "Fat, red-headed lady with a few screws missing?"
"Oh, yeah…her."
"She thought they were mine." Maes grinned. "I know you're smiling, Hughes, and that isn't funny."
"Sure it is, Roy," Maes cajoled. Then he switched back to the topic at hand. "Anyway, has anything else happened, or is it just the normal stuff?"
"Define 'normal'. But no, besides the older one yelling at me too loudly that he lost his voice, nothing much. They're just sitting in the living room now. I gotta ask Lily what she put in that soup 'cause it seems to have flipped their personalities."
"How so?" Maes asked, sitting down on his couch.
"The younger one suddenly started talking, while the older one got all quiet and unresponsive. He even left his brother's side and went and sat alone on the couch. Didn't even react when I got near Alec. Just keeps glaring at me like he's mad or something."
"Well, have you asked him what's wrong?"
"What? No. Why would I want to do that?"
"You said that he seemed upset."
"I said he seemed angry, Hughes. Not upset."
"Being angry is being upset. You just express it a different way. Same with being sad, scared, or startled."
"Be that as it may, I'm not asking him anything. The kid hates me and I can't say I'm too fond of him, either. Besides, he'd have a hard time answering since he can't really speak that well."
Maes leaned back on the couch, suddenly feeling like a parent parenting…a parent as he said, "I feel like you're not trying, Roy. They're your responsibility. You have to keep them alive and well. If something's not right, you gotta find out what it is, make sure it's not something big."
Hughes heard Roy's telephone-muffled sigh. "I hear you, Hughes. But I doubt the kid will even react. He's been really quiet. To be honest, it's kinda creeping me out."
"All the more reason to speak with him. Who knows, maybe there is something wrong and you'll be glad you checked into it. Or it could just be moody teenager-ness. It might just be that the medication the Rockbell doctors have given him wore off." Maes sat forward on his couch and rested one elbow on his knee. "You have to remember that these boys are still sick."
There was a pause. "What should I do then?"
"What should you do when?"
"After I find out what the problem is."
"Well, if it is something big, call me back; we'll decide what to do then. But if he's just grumpy, I'd say to leave him alone or if he's not feeling well, you can try to make him feel better. Anything other than that, you can probably decide what to do yourself or call me. Is Alec behaving strangely at all?"
"Don't think so. But I'll keep an eye on him."
"You do that. Make sure they drink plenty of water, as well."
"Will do."
"Anything else I can help you with?"
"Getting over here sooner?"
Maes laughed. "I'll try." Gracia walked back into the room then. "Hey, Roy? I gotta go. But I'll be there tomorrow night. That sound alright?"
"Yeah, sure. See you then."
"Alright. G'bye." He waited for his friend's farewell, but, when it was not forthcoming, the man hung up the phone, turning to his wife.
"Are you going away again?" Gracia asked, looking a little disappointed.
Maes smiled apologetically. "Duty calls."
The blonde woman didn't pursue the subject. Instead, she patted her husband's hand. "Mr. Bunny is no longer with us." Maes raised his eyebrow. "We are not keeping that thing, Maes," Gracia said in all seriousness. The man bit his lip, and then rose from where he was seated. "Dear," the woman said in warning.
"Elicia!" he called. "Where did Mommy put Mr. Bunny?"
Now, how 'bout an "aww" and a review? :D
Please? I'll hunt you down... ¬.¬
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