This story takes place both before the series starts and during the epilogue, the roof that needs repair being the one that Edward is shown working on in one scene. Also, this is an AU where Hohenheim doesn't die at the end of the series. Here, his body was essentially cryogenically frozen while a philosopher's stone, and once the souls were gone he was left more or less exactly as he was before everything went down with Xerxes. I may end up eventually uploading more additions to this AU (I actually have a prologue oneshot sort of written, though it's basically word vomit right now), but that's all you need to know for this story.

The story's title is taken from "Penelope's Song" by Loreena McKennit, which may give you a clue as to my inspiration for this scenario.

As always, dedicated to my sister to being my editor extraordinaire.

Hohenheim is bewildered when Edward opposes his idea. In fact, not only does Ed vehemently oppose the idea of hiring Matthew Jameson to replace the roof on the Rockbells' house, he practically growls at his father that there is absolutely no need to hire Jameson and that Ed can fix the roof himself—it's a perfectly fine roof, it doesn't need to be replaced, it just needs some fixing, Hohenheim.

Once he's finished shouting Ed leaves right away to go into town to get the supplies at the general store (and probably to ask around about how one actually goes about fixing a roof), leaving Hohenheim still sitting at the kitchen table, feeling like he has witnessed a hurricane blow through their kitchen.

Alphonse is across from him, one hand still on the cup of tea he had halfway to his mouth when Edward had started shouting. He now rotates the mug slowly in place on the placemat, careful not to slosh the contents out. He keeps looking at Hohenheim, opening his mouth like he's going to say something, and then closing it again and looking back down at the little whirlpool he's making in his mug.

He finally just sighs.

"I'm not even sure what I said to set him off," Hohenheim replies, gaze returning to the newspaper, which contained the ad for Jameson's services that prompted the suggestion.

From her place at the pantry, putting oats away before she joins Winry in the clinic for an early appointment, Pinako snorts. "Who knows with him."

Alphonse continues swirling his tea.

Upon arriving home from his trip to the general store, Edward had grabbed the ladder and gone right to work on the roof. He wouldn't let Al help much, other than occasional trips up the ladder to offer water or supplies. Winry had kept poking her head outside to check on Ed throughout the afternoon, each time reminding Ed, "Don't you dare fall!" Ed had avoided talking to Hohenheim since the incident at breakfast.

The evening finds Hohenheim studying in his room. It's odd, he thinks. He would have expected after all the time he spent studying to find a way to stop Father and fix his own situation he would never want to open another book. It seems his thirst for knowledge really is unquenchable.

There is a knock at his door, with a quiet call of "It's Alphonse."

Noting the late hour showing on his clock, Hohenheim straightens. "Come in."

Al enters, an air of hesitation around him. He is dressed for bed in a pair of old flannel pants and a plain short-sleeved shirt, hair mussed like he has already been sleeping or trying to do so. "Can I...talk with you?" he asks.

Hohenheim blinks. "Sure, Al."

Al takes a seat on the bed and picks at a fuzz on his pants. Hohenheim waits for him to speak when he's ready, and when he does he says "It's about Ed, and why he got upset today."

"Oh."

Alphonse speaks again. "Matthew Jameson worked on the roof on our house. When Mom was still alive."

"I see," Hohenheim responds. "Did he do a bad job?"

Al frowns. "You could say that."

"Mom, we're doing an experiment in our chemistry class today!" Al exclaims with a grin.

At the counter, putting away the freshly used and even more freshly washed utensils she used to make their breakfast omelettes, Trisha Elric turns to her sons at the table and smiles. "That sounds interesting! What is it about?"

"It's called a flame test! We're going to try and name chemicals based on the color flame shows up when they're lit over a Bunsen burner!" Al explains, waving his fork.

His mother oohs appreciatively. "How exciting!"

"It's kiddie stuff," Edward says, punctuating his statement by sticking a bite of his omelette in his mouth. With his mouth full, he continues, "We read about the flame test years ago."

Walking by him to sit back down at the table, Trisha briefly smooths his hair down. "Chew, swallow, then talk, Edward."

Edward does so, then says, "It's gonna be boring."

"Brother, we never do actual lab work in chemistry. Don't ruin it," Al protests.

Likely sensing the brewing argument, Trisha interjects. "Look at it this way, Ed: you will already know what's going on in the experiment. You can help your classmates do it."

Ed's face brightens. "Yeah! I bet they'll be pretty impressed."

Suddenly the sound of the front door opening is heard. "Anyone home?" a man's voice calls.

"Mr. Jameson!" yells Al.

In the kitchen doorway appears a young man dressed in overalls, smiling lazily and holding a toolbox. He takes his hat off in his free hand. "Morning, ma'am. Morning, boys."

"Morning, Matthew!" Trisha replies with a bright smile. She stands and grabs a clean plate from the cabinet. "I kept your omelette warm."

Mr. Jameson sits at the table, leaving his hat next to his placemat and his toolbox by his feet. "Thank you," he says when Trisha sets the plate and a cup of coffee in front of him.

The man barely has his first bite up to his lips before Edward pipes up. "Mr. Jameson, guess what we're doing in school today!"

Mr. Jameson chews his food thoughtfully before swallowing and venturing a guess. "Uh...you're going on a field trip today?"

Before Ed can say anything, Al cuts in. "Nope! We're doing a chemistry experiment today!"

"Al, I was gonna tell him!" Ed complains.

Before the boys can start bickering, Mr. Jameson quickly exclaims, "Wow! I bet you guys already know all about it, with how good you are at alchemy." He winks one blue eye at them.

The boys beam with pride and, talking over each other, try to explain the flame test to the increasingly confused man.

Finally, Trisha says, "Okay, boys! You need to get going or you'll be late for school."

Ed and Al jump up, and after bringing their plates to the sink, grab their shoes and bags. With a kiss on their mother's cheek each and a wave to Mr. Jameson, they head to school.

When the boys arrive home again that afternoon, Mr. Jameson is on the roof, hammering away. He greets them with a cheerful wave and listens with interest to their descriptions of their class chemistry experiment when he comes down the ladder for lemonade and a snack.

A few hours later, the boys and their mother try to convince him to stay for dinner.

"Thank you kindly for the offer, but I really shouldn't. My sister is expecting me for dinner tonight," he says.

Ed and Al "Aw!" in disappointment together.

Mr. Jameson kneels to get on their level. "Sorry, boys, but she's probably got a place set for me already. I'll be back tomorrow to work some more on the roof." He winks at Trisha, who smiles. "Maybe you two can help me out a little. I bet we can find something your alchemy can do, yeah?"

The boys agree begrudgingly, and he playfully ruffles their hair before standing up and tipping his hat to Trisha. "Good night, ma'am. I'll be back in the morning."

She gives him a bright smile. "Good night, Matthew."

Mr. Jameson has been by at least a few days a week for the last couple months, and Al thinks it's great. Ed won't admit it, but Al knows he thinks so too. He does things around the house for their Mom that, between housework and taking care of the boys, she doesn't have the time to do—or, in some cases, the know-how.

He has fixed their wobbly kitchen table and the uneven nightstand in the boys' room. He took care of the living room window that wouldn't open, fixed the leaky faucet in the bathroom, and repaired their tire swing twice. He even redid the wallpaper in the kitchen, which Al knows his mom had been wanting to do forever but hadn't had the time. Now he's fixing their roof, which needs it after years of hailstorms.

Mr. Jameson won't even accept money for all his work! He says that Mom's cooking is payment enough. Al thinks it's very chivalrous.

Also, Mr. Jameson is really nice. He doesn't talk to Ed and Al like they're only little kids the way most grownups do. He listens to them talk about alchemy and tries to ask questions, even if he doesn't really understand. Usually he'll play a game with them when he's over on a weekend, like catch or keep-away.

But the best part is that, ever since he's started coming to visit, Mom has been smiling all the time! She smiled before, but Al wonders if maybe she was a little lonely. After all, when he and Brother are in school, she's alone at the house all day. Now Mr. Jameson is there with her more days than he's not. She seems like she enjoys his company a lot. He always makes her laugh and compliments her food. Once, Mr. Jameson even called her "pretty as a picture," and Mom's face turned all red!

Al wonders sometimes if this is a little bit like what life will be like when Dad gets back—Mr. Jameson isn't their Dad, but he'd sure be a good one—but Al knows life will be even better then than it is now, because then it'll be their real Dad! Maybe Mr. Jameson can become friends with Dad too, and keep eating meals with them. Now that would be perfect.

The Saturday after the chemistry experiment, Mr. Jameson is quiet at lunch. When Ed and Al talk about school or the Rockbells or alchemy, he doesn't ask them questions like he usually does. Sometimes, he won't respond to questions right away. Al wonders if something is wrong.

Their mother notices too, because, with worry clouding her voice, she asks, "Matthew, is everything alright? You seem like you've got something heavy on your mind."

Mr. Jameson just stares at his plate for a moment before setting his fork down. "Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about, ma'am. Maybe we could go outside?"

Trisha seems a little startled, but she agrees anyway. "Oh! Well, alright."

They go out to the porch and shut the door behind them. The brothers left at the kitchen table stay in their chairs for approximately two seconds before they make eye contact and simultaneously scramble up and sneak to the living room. There's a perfect spot at the window by the rocking chair where someone (or two someones) could hide and and see everything on the porch, hidden from anyone outside. They go there and crouch down, peaking over the windowsill.

Their mother and Mr. Jameson are standing on the porch, in perfect view from their hiding spot. Mr. Jameson is wringing his hands in front of him.

Trisha looks worried. "What's wrong, Matthew?"

"Mrs. Elric, it's been real nice being around here the last couple of months," he starts. "You've been very kind, giving me food and everything."

Trisha smiles, still looking a little bemused. "It's the least I can do, with all the help you've given me and since you won't take money."

"It's because I've been glad to do it. I've...really enjoyed getting to know you. And the boys. They're good kids."

Trisha's face softens, and she tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I have too. If I'm being honest, I was rather lonely before, in the house alone all the time. I have loved having you around. You're a wonderful friend."

"Well…" Mr. Jameson pauses suddenly and runs a hand through his dark brown hair, hat left behind at the kitchen table. "I was wondering if maybe you were interested in...well, trying to be something a little more than friends."

Trisha blinks owlishly. "What?"

Ed and Al look at each other in confusion when Mr. Jameson reaches out to gently take their mother's hand. "You're something really special, Trisha. Sweet as pie, pretty as a picture, smart as a whip. I'll admit that I'd always thought that, but it wasn't until I came over that first time to fix your faucet that I realized just how special you were. I couldn't stay away after that."

Trisha's cheeks are pink, but she looks unsure. "Matthew...I don't—"

"Couldn't we give it a try? I've had an idea that you feel something a little more than friendship for me, too."

Now Trisha looks sad as she slowly lets go of Mr. Jameson's hand and draws back. "Matthew, I'm sorry, but I don't feel that way about you. You're a wonderful friend who has been incredibly kind to me and the boys. They love you, and I love you, just not...that way. I have my Van."

Mr. Jameson takes a half a step back. Al can see a frown on his face. "My apologies, Trisha, but I don't understand why you keep holding a candle for that man. It's been years without a sign of him. Does he even write?"

Now his mom is frowning, too, and Al doesn't like it. "He hasn't recently, but I know—"

"See?" Mr. Jameson interrupts. "I'm sorry to say, Trisha, but I don't think he's coming back. I admire your faith in him, but I think you're refusing to see the truth of the matter."

"Van didn't abandon us." Her voice is steely in a way Al has only heard a few times, when he or Ed were about to do something dangerous. "He had responsibilities. He'll be back when he's taken care of them."

Mr. Jameson throws his arms out, and his voice raises in volume a little. "What responsibilities? What on earth could cause him to leave his family for years with hardly a letter?"

"That's his business."

"What, you're telling me he didn't tell you?"

"No, he did, but it's his story to share, not mine."

Mr. Jameson sighs. "Trisha, for all you know, he made up whatever these responsibilities are. Hell, for all you know, he's dead!"

Trisha snorts. "Not possible."

"It's very possible that he was lying to you." He reaches for her hand again, but Trisha pulls it back. "It's not fair for you to wait years for a man that isn't coming back. You said yourself that you're lonely. And what about the boys? Don't they need a father in their lives?"

"They have one."

"Trisha. I know it's a scary thought, but you need to see the reality of the situation. Van Hohenheim is not coming back. You're young, and you're sweet and pretty, and you have two kids without a dad in their life. Don't waste your life—or theirs—waiting on some deadbeat. You deserve to be happy. And—" He reaches out to touch her cheek lightly, before letting his hand drop— "if you're agreeable, I would love to have a chance to give you that happiness."

The fire that had been in Trisha's eyes is gone, and now she just looks sad. "I'm sorry, Matthew, but I have a husband. And I just don't feel that way about you."

Mr. Jameson squares his shoulders, and, voice steely, says, "I suppose I'll take my leave, then." He walks into the house, footsteps heavy. Trisha follows him in. They act like they don't even notice the boys who are half out of their hiding corner and definitely in plain view.

"Matthew, wait," she says.

Mr. Jameson grabs his toolbox and hat, shoving the latter on his head. He walks toward the door.

"Please, Matthew. Don't go."

Finally, he stops. He doesn't look at Trisha. "Why should I stay?"

Their mother's voice is small and wavering. "Because the boys love you. Because we're friends. Because—"

"I'm not interested in being just friends," Mr. Jameson interrupts. He walks out the door. It slams shut in his wake.

Trisha stares at the door, and then she goes to her room for a long time.

Mr. Jameson doesn't come by anymore after that.

"...He wouldn't even acknowledge us when we saw him in town," Al says. "Mom tried to talk to him...I know she missed him being around. We did too, honestly."

"I see," Hohenheim responds. He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't know what he would say.

Al sighs heavily. "He didn't even finish the roof. Mom had to hire someone else in town to do the rest of it."

There's a long moment of silence, and then Hohenheim ventures, "And this is why your brother was so upset at the idea of hiring Jameson?"

Al nods. "I wanted to tell you because I knew he never would, but you needed to know that he wasn't angry at you."

"Thank you, Alphonse."

Al goes back to bed not long after that. Alone in his room, Hohenheim curses himself, not for the first time.

The next morning, Ed gets up extra early to get started on the roof, grabbing toast at breakfast and leaving the others to finish their food at the table. The sun just barely peeks along the horizon, and he begins to hammer away at the shingles in the orange light.

He's at it for maybe ten or fifteen minutes before his attention is caught by someone coming up the ladder behind him. "Al, I said I don't need any help."

"It's me, actually."

Ed turns to see his father carefully maneuvering from the ladder to the roof, a second hammer in his hands.

"I definitely don't need your help," Ed growls.

"I've never been terribly handy, but I'll do what I can," Hohenheim replies mildly.

"Look, just go—"

"If I help, we'll be done more quickly. What do you say?" Hohenheim then meets his son's gaze steadily. "We can handle it. No need to hire that Jameson bastard, eh?"

Realization slowly dawns on Edward's face, and he finally gives his father a wry smirk. "None at all."

The roof is finished in time for lunch.

For those unfamiliar with the Greek myth of Odysseus and Penelope, here's a little explanation. Odysseus is the main character of Homer's epic poem the Odyssey. Because he ticked off Poseidon, the god of the sea, he gets cursed into trying to sail home from fighting in the Trojan War for an entire decade or so. While he's gone, his wife Penelope waits for him, even though most people assume Odysseus is dead and suitors are lining up around the block to marry her and gain all of the assets her "dead" husband left her. She cleverly outwits the suitors for years and stays faithful to her husband until he finally returns. (Of course, there's some inherent sexism here in that Penelope is lauded as the perfect wife for doing this, even though it would be reasonable to assume Odysseus is dead, while Odysseus has multiple affairs on his travels and isn't condemned for it in the story. So it's not a perfect metaphor for Trisha and Van's situation, but whatever.)

Anyway, please let me know what you think! I love to read reviews. Stay healthy and take care of each other!