Author's Note: FOR ONCE. Not an April Fools' chapter.


Second Interlude: Nicolas

.

.

.

.

Apparently, pressing the receiver hard against the ear could only do so little in helping a recipient process a certain number of words. Or help him hear his friend's frenzied whispering for that matter. After some time, said recipient succeeded in giving his neck a slight cramp by cradling the phone too hard against his collarbone. With a wince, he loosened his hold a bit and leaned back against the wall next to the phone, resigned to hearing all about this 'Roy.'

But when his friend segued into an 'Elicia,' he knew he had to start talking or else allow the torrent to carry him away.

"Sir." He twisted the cord around a finger once, twice. "You don't have a daughter."

Mr. Hughes cheerily snapped back a response. "Well, Nicolas, it appears that in this other world…I do."

Other worlds. It was much too early to have a conversation about this. His teacher's butcher shop hadn't even fully opened up for the day yet. In fact, he could hear her husband still in the process of carrying their goods in from the meat delivery guy.

Somehow, however, he understood that Mr. Hughes must think that this was incredibly important, and breaking this Roy's contract was the key to solving their problems. All of their problems.

Desperation, he would have called it. And yet, this did not stop him from wanting to check this Roy out. If Roy's story was real, great. If not, well…he had seen his fair share of frauds.

"So." Mr. Hughes cleared his throat. "Will you come to Central?"

In a flash, Alphonse Elric withdrew the phone away from his head as if the question had been yelled at him. He stared at the receiver in his hand for a while as his heart battered itself against his chest, every beat a protest that thrummed through his veins, its disapproval heard and echoed by his body freezing in place.

Don't panic.

—Right, right.

Of course, he'd have to go to Central in the end. Back to hell. After months and years of avoiding the city like a plague.

[He must decline.]

[Slam down the receiver now.]

[What was taking him so long to do so?]

After all, his older brother had explicitly forbidden him from visiting. [Threats of violence left and right if he so much as felt that they were 'breathing the same fucking filthy air']

Al slumped, the gravity clawing at his knees and shoulders. He wasn't sure if he could endure another shouting match with him.

He really could just not go.

"Nicolas?" Mr. Hughes called through the suffocating smoke in Al's mind. "My minutes are almost up. I need an answer soon." From this distance, the man's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. Al's inside voice had the same tonal quality in fact.

No, they weren't suffocating. Both of them were drowning, pleading for a lifeline.

Not unlike the countless people that Al had interviewed in his efforts to discover what could negate the power of the contracts, what could get the desired result without anyone suffering any consequences.

He snorted. What a realization: they were all drowning. Drowning in debt that was. Or at least, those who signed their lives away to the Deal Alchemist are, before finally getting caught by the demon fisherman on the hooks and strung along to be gutted in the market.

He closed his eyes and wiped his face with his other hand. "Yeah, yeah," Al finally spoke into the mouthpiece, his body feeling clammy with his decision. "I'll go. Soon as I can."

"Thank you." With that, the line immediately cut off, the ringing tone following as a proxy for the man's sigh of relief.

Al carefully replaced the phone. Al took a moment to steady his shaking.

From his pocket, he took a pencil and a spare piece of paper to list down the things he would have to buy in order to don the person of Nicolas Curtis once again. He knew that he still had his blue-tinted glasses upstairs, although having a spare one wouldn't hurt. Black hair color was a must so he wrote that down too. He would also add in a change of clothes.

He had grown taller since then and his body's build was a little bit bulkier than it used to be. Maybe Ed wouldn't recognize his own little brother's outline after such a long time.

He blinked.

It disturbed him more to think that he wasn't the least bothered by the idea, that he even felt secure wearing a disguise.

Behind him, a chopping knife punctured the silence. Al tapped his pen to the rhythm of the hacking.

Mr. Hughes had mentioned that the Deal Alchemist had Roy's contract, which could be a problem. They'd have to go through the trouble of retrieving it since Al's recently developed exit-clause-revealing array would only work on the signed paper, not on the one branded on skin.

Someone was bartering with Sig now. (A thousand four-hundred for a kilo of pork loin?! What a rip-off!)

Al plunged a hand into his vest pocket and pulled out his little black book of contacts. The book used to be slim, but had since then accumulated a ton of various scraps of paper, which were inserted between the pages: notes of hurriedly asked-for telephone numbers, addresses, even a few signatures.

Al carefully flipped through his notebook, skimming as he went. There was a Gustav Alfred, a carpenter living in the west, who gave up his hands to Deal to cure his daughter's paralysis (No regrets.) A Fiona Colton, college student from up north, who had exchanged her tongue for a huge huge memory boost (Regretted. Denied of alternative contract.) An Alex Davis, merchant from the south, who surrendered his ability to feel pleasure during sex in exchange for the ability to accurately discern fake from real goods (Regretted. Denied of alternative contract. Tried to sue. Lost.)

Ed. Brother. Returned Alphonse Elric's body. Payment: ((years of service [strikethrough])) unknown (Inconclusive.)—

A Glinda Fischer, housewife. Tumor on her breast vanished. Paid with her eyes. (Regretted. Side effects.)

A Jean Havoc, store owner. Repaired a friend's throat. Lost some of his memories. (No regrets. [No idea which memories were taken.] )

A Scheska Kristensen, librarian. Mother cured of sickness. Relinquished her photographic memory. (Inconclusive.)

Lindholm…. (Regretted.)

Schwarz… (Regretted.)

Vincent… (No regrets.)

Zoren... (Regretted.)

Oops, he had flipped too far. He backtracked to section M and penned in a 'Mustang, Roy.' Al would personally ask him about his history and his own 'equivalent trade' for accuracy.

Just then, the chopping from the kitchen stopped and a woman's voice called out. "Anyone important, Alphonse?"

"No, Teacher. Just a military man contacting from Central."

He snapped his book shut and pocketed it again carefully.

Perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing to go. Perhaps this time he could get Ed to listen to him, to see reason. Perhaps he'll finally agree. Perhaps, they could even mend their sibling relationship to what it used to be.

Perhaps.

.

.

.

/

AN: Theory time points to Shinigami Merchant. 1 point out of 5. ("Alphonse has his original body back because Edward made a deal with Theofil in order to get it back.")

To my long time readers, thank you for your continued support! Follow me on manalfedz on Tumblr for more updates.

I'm so tired. Also, what the hell FFN, where's the strikethrough?