He Who Searches for Himself

57 - Father's Christmas

The hinges on the car door creaked open, the bitter cold doing very little for the health of the imperfect vehicle, let alone its occupants. Ed's right boot vanished into the snow as he stepped his foot down to the cement, though he remained sitting upon the cold seat of the car. His thoughts constantly in awe of the amounts that had fallen over the last week – it was like nothing he'd ever seen. He pulled the wool hat down tighter over his head.

Hohenheim glanced over to him as he opened the back car door, "You're going to be okay in the snow?" from the back seat, he handed Ed a wooden crutch.

Using the side of the car as an anchor, Ed pulled himself up onto his right leg, his tone harsh at the implication he was unable to care for himself, "We're only going up their walkway." Tucking the crutch under his left arm, Ed moved away from the car. Hohenheim shut the door behind him. Shivering in his heavily weighted coat, Ed followed his father up the snow-covered path to the house they'd been invited to for the evening. From what he'd seen of London thus far, the old brick house seemed to be one of the more aristocratic ones. He tried to sink into the scarf around his neck to keep the bitter winds from stinging his cheeks.

Hohenheim knocked firmly on the door twice. Before his hand was able to hit for the third and final knock, the door had swung open.

"Aunty! They're here!" the little girl who'd opened the door for them called back into the house before looking to Edward and Hohenheim once more, "come inside! It's bitter in the cold."

"Thank you, Diana," Hohenheim looked back to Ed, and motioned for him to follow. He moved as quickly as caution would allow him to do with his crutch in the blowing snow - last thing he wanted to do was fall over again. Entering the house, he was instantly hit by the brightness of the entire building. It made the house feel warmer than the heat of the oven and fireplace had actually created. Ed gave his head a shake to get the snow off his hat and shoulders. Hohenheim reached out and plucked the hat from his head the moment he stopped.

With her hair done in brown spiral curls, a woman rushed down the hall towards the guests within her house, "I'm so glad you came, I was worried the weather would keep you home." The woman pulled up her holiday Victorian dress as she pushed shoes aside that cluttered her hallway, "please Edward, have a seat on the stairs so you can unbundled yourself."

Awkwardly making his way around the cluttered hall, Ed moved to the staircase that lead up to the second floor, "Sorry, my shoe is going to leave tracks on your carpet," he leaned the crutch up against the wall and gripped his left hand on the stair railing as he slowly sat down.

"Don't worry about it, the children spilt juice on my carpet earlier in the day. Snow and soil are nothing," the lady of the house adjusted his crutch against the wall to prevent it from tipping.

Ed unwrapped the scarf from around his neck as the woman reached over to help him with his coat.

"I'm alright."

"You're our guest, I can help you with your coat."

Ed reluctantly gave into her assistance and the woman hung his jacket up in the closet while he undid the buckle on his boot. Hohenheim was the one who took the boot from the bottom of the stairs and placed it among the others. Again reaching for the railing, Ed wrinkled his face as he pulled himself to his only good leg while glancing down to make sure the pin still kept his other pant leg rolled up. Steadying himself against the wall for support, he looked up the stairs while taking his crutch once more - the young faces of two little girls, one far younger than the other, and their dolls stared back at him from above. Their seasonal red and green plaid dresses blending into each other as they huddled together.

"Diana, come down here!"

Ed's attention was quickly snatched by the distinct 'Mother' tone.

The one who'd opened the door for them earlier left her companion, ran down the stairs, and stood before the woman, "Aunty?"

"Would you show these men to the common room?" the woman addressed as 'Aunty' clasped her hands as the little girl nodded in acceptance of her mission.

Hohenheim motioned for Ed to start moving, and he began to follow. Unable to protest once more, his hostess straightened his vest and re-folded his collar before she allowed Ed to go any farther. It was not more than twenty steps when the little girl made a sharp turn and lead the pair through a set of white, gold-handled doors. As swiftly as he could, Ed caught up with Hohenheim before the pair entered the room.

"Hohenheim!" a man's bright voice greeted them, "you got through the weather." The man placed his pipe down in the tray and he stood up to shake hands.

Standing back near the closing doors, Ed's eyes traveled around the room. Instantly drawn in by the huge decorated spruce tree had been set up in front of the window, he noted the mountain of tightly wrapped presents lying beneath it as well as the angel upon the highest peak. He's been warned about the strange custom, but thought it was an odd sight nonetheless. He took note of the perfectly dressed people sitting on the couches encircling an elegant glass coffee table, oversized paintings framed with a shining silver colour hung on the wall, the orange crackling fireplace lived behind the protective screen and the red stockings hung above it. The puzzling green-leaved decorations adorned various corners and edges of the room. He concluded the pine smell was because the tree was only a few days old.

"Edward, you came too. I'm glad you were feeling well enough to join us."

Ed glanced up at the man, his eyes carrying a displaced look, "I was told I had to come." Though his response was blunt; it did not seem to faze anyone. As he shifted his weight upon the crutch, Ed kept his vision trained with curiosity on the man whose eyes marvelled over him.

"Edward, this is Charles Wilson," Hohenheim introduced the companion.

With a smirk, the trim gentleman looked back to Ed's father, "Your boy gotten a fair bit of his colour back into his complexion. That's good to see."

Hohenheim gave a nod at that and moved to sit down, "It's good indeed. And it's good to see you again Charles, you've been busy off on duty the last couple months."

"Yes, and let me tell you words cannot express how glad I am that I had Christmas leave," the man gave a quick look back at Edward, "don't stand there young man, take a seat. Julie, sit like a lady so Edward can have a spot on the chesterfield."

"Sorry," the young teenager pulled her feet off the couch, smoothing her extravagant green patterned dress out. She sat herself perfectly at the end of the couch. Moving over to the spot made available, Ed let himself fall back into the soft cushions – it was far easier than trying to gracefully sit down. Putting his crutch on the ground, his eyes first glanced to the young man sitting on his right side, possibly a few years older than him. Without provocation, he gave Ed a simple nod of welcome. Slowly returning the gesture, he looked back over to the girl who'd shifted from her perfect position to lean against the arm of the sofa. He watched her for a moment, the tight blonde curls matched how the lady at the door had her hair styled - only for this girl, an extravagant bow was tied into the back of her hair. She glanced his way momentarily and Ed felt like he'd caught her blue eyes, but it never felt like she acknowledged his presence.

"Edward," the man with the last name of Wilson asked for his attention, "this is Julie and Thomas." He motioned to the people who graced Ed's sides, he then began to go around in circle of the men, women and children enjoying the entrées and wine upon the coffee table, "this is their father, Mr. Hyland, their mother greeted you at the door. This young man is Randolph, and I believe you met his older sister Diana already," he motioned to the two children now sharing a space upon the facing couch, "And this is their father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Churchill."

Ed gave a nod to each person within the room, he paused his traveling glance when he arrived at Mrs. Churchill, "I never got to thank you for the quilt."

"Oh goodness, you don't need to do that," her bright smile reflected around the room, "I've made quilts for the children in the hospital before when winter season set in. The extra one was no problem, I thought you'd like something a little more enjoyable than those white sheets."

"Since we had to leave the hospital, it's become an ornament for my den," Hohenheim gave a bemused smile the Churchill's way, "he sits on it if the floor's cold, he wraps himself up in it when he's reading the paper in the morning, the rest of the time he's sound asleep in it on my sofa."

Ed's hand came up to his forehead as he glared bullets back to Hohenheim, sinking in the cushions a little. The adults within the room burst into laughter at Ed's obvious disapproval of the story Hohenheim had just told.

"You embarrassed him Hohenheim! For shame," one of the voices laughed.

A grossly unimpressed look sat on Ed's face as he let the laughter continue around him knowing that if he even raised his voice, he'd give away his embarrassment further. His gaze drifted curiously back to Julie as she giggled. She never looked his way, simply living in her own world as she stared at the beige sofa arm.

It was Mr. Wilson's voice that finally ended the ruckus, "Winston, I've been meaning to ask, how have your dealings with Lloyd been going?"

"Bah," Churchill sat back in his spot, "the man is tied, seems I have too many political enemies in the Conservatives to do anything right now. He promises to try and weave some magic for me once the new government is settled, I look forward to when he does."

"The change of government is good though," Hohenheim piped into the conversation, "perhaps the change can bring an end to this war sooner."

"Cheers to that."

Ed once again looked over to Julie sitting silently on his left - she continued to stare off into space without concern for what she was looking at. Something about her had his curiosity, but he could not place what exactly. He suspected it had something to do with her apparent disinterest in what was going on and the noise of the adults became background static. Attentions were grabbed however when Ms. Hyland's voice came from the kitchen, "Julie, would you give me a hand in here please."

"There's something on the floor Julie, watch your step," came her older brother's voice from Ed's opposite side.

Ed reached down to move his crutch, "I'll move it."

"It's okay," it was the first time she'd shared her voice since Ed had gotten there and he watched her whisk out of the room. He tilted his head, confused by how oddly she moved, barely picking her feet up from the floor.

"She's blind," it was Thomas whose low voice had spoken up and caught Ed's attention, "if that's what you were wondering about. You kept looking at her."

Ed's expression grew concerned, "But her eyes, she looked at me. They were fine."

Thomas shook his head, "She blinks, she cries, she looks around, but she doesn't see anything. A few years ago she became quite sick, an infection spread, and she lost her sight," he watched as Ed looked towards the exit leading to the kitchen, "but this is her house, she knows where everything is; she's really sharp that way. Mother always lets her help in the kitchen." Though he hesitated momentarily in doing so, Thomas gave Ed a backhanded slap where the empty sleeve hung at his right shoulder to grab his attention, "Hey, Churchill's kids took off upstairs and politics bores me to tears. We can go to the kitchen and be taste testers for my mother's cooking. Worst that can happen is she'll put us to work and we can sample the stuff as we go."

Ed gave him a puzzled eye, confused by the sudden invite, "I'll be in the way," it was a truth he did not normally to admit to.

"No more in the way than Julie. Come on, before your father turns you into conversation fodder again."

That was enough for Ed; the boys announced their exiting intentions to the remainder of the guests.

"Louise this was excellent! How am I supposed to top this next Christmas Eve?" Mrs. Churchill dropped her napkin over her finished plate.

"Lots of coffee Clementine, lots of coffee," Mrs. Hyland gave a crooked grin in response.

A few of the guests laughed as they sat around two large oak tables that had been pushed together. What was left of Christmas dinner and all it's trimmings was now simply a mess that would become leftovers for the next several days. All the party members, from ages two to however old Ed thought Hohenheim might be, sat around the table, passing plates to Mrs. Hyland as she collected them. One by one, the elders at the table would excuse themselves to the living room once more.

Mrs. Hyland smiled down at Edward as she took the plate from him, "Are you sure you're finished, dear?"

Ed gave an affirmative nod and a thank-you as she took his plate. While doing so, he did not catch the look Hohenheim gave Wilson as he excused himself from the table.

"Edward, would you come upstairs with me please?" Mr. Wilson pushed up from his seat.

Somewhat caught off guard by the request, Ed replied affirmatively. Picking his crutch up from the floor, he stood himself up and followed the man out of the room. Scaling the stairs twice as fast as Ed managed, Charles waited at the top and watched Edward make his assent.

"Now then, I think she said… oh that's right. We're going into the Hyland's study, come along."

Growing more perplexed as he made his way up the stairs and down the long unlit hall, Ed followed the man into the study. Wilson turned on the lamp while Ed gave the door a push to close it after he'd come in. The room, like everything else in the house, was large and neatly decorated - everything from the desk to bookcases to the coat rack was a dark oak. A few wooden chairs sat in front of the study desk, though Ed thought that if he chose to sat down, he'd sit on the maroon cushioned seats lining the door's wall.

Leaning up against the desk within the weak light, Wilson looked questioningly at Edward, "You don't remember who I am do you?"

Ed turned his attention around and looked at the man, he narrowed his gaze in thought of the question.

"I visited you a few times around the end of September, early October while you were in the hospital. I wasn't sure if you'd remember that or not," the man's sombre voice echoed within the room.

Slouching against his crutch, Ed's eyes looked away from the man as if to feign an interest elsewhere within the room, "I saw a lot of people in that hospital, I can't remember everyone."

"I didn't think you did. It's not your fault, don't put on such a face," the man encouraged Ed to drop his act and offered a bit of additional information to shed some light on his presence, "I worked at St. Mary's Medical School before the war started, I'm looking to go back when this war is over."

"Wait, did he put you up to this?" his voice suddenly snapped and the expression on Ed's face soured into his scowl, "I'm besieged by doctors everywhere I go. This is ridiculous."

Wilson laughed at the sudden vicious life that showed up in Ed, "Yes, I can imagine you're pretty tired of seeing us by now."

His expression made it clear he was not entertained by the comments.

Giving a sigh, the man turned and stepped behind the desk. He produced an extra long black case that he put up onto the desk, followed by a tote bag. Ed analyzed the man's motions carefully as he moved and unzipped the bag.

"Has your cough cleared? You haven't had any problems in the last few weeks?"

"For the thousandth time NO. I don't know how many times I have to repeat myself to everyone I'm feeling fine. And I have been fine all month," Ed raised his voice as he snapped back, his fierce expression cutting into the man before him.

Looking up from his baggage, Charles raised an eyebrow unfazed by his behaviour; "Your father says you've started to make an embarrassing scene whenever the doctors come to check up on you."

"I told that old man that I don't need to see those doctors any more. I'm really sick of his voice and how he insists he knows what's best for me," the option for Ed to belt out the last word and storm out of the room was a non factor; since it would take too long for him to open and close the door, let alone get down the hall and stairs.

Charles light laughter didn't help Ed's foul mood, "You sound just like Thomas use to some days, but I knew his dad would let me box his ears for that. Trust me, I have no problem dealing with upstart teenagers. Why don't you have a seat?"

Ed glanced behind where he stood, the firm maroon cushions attached to square sectionals stretched from the coat rack next to the door all the way to the wall. He figured they must get pulled out as seating during office meetings, as opposed to the hard chairs. Turning forward again, he saw Mr. Wilson snap stethoscope ends around his neck. With the full motion of his arm, he threw the crutch to the floor in some immature fit of frustration and fell backwards into the cushions, wincing when his head hit the wall unintentionally.

Grabbing a wooden chair from in front of the desk, Charles pulled it over to his cranky adversary, "How do you sleep?"

"Just fine," came the flat response.

"I doubt that," the man sat down, "I meant do you sleep on your stomach, your side, or your back?"

After a momentary pause to consider the question, Ed narrowed his eyes, "On my back," was the cautious reply.

At that, the man reached down, grabbed Ed at his ankle and swung his leg up onto the length of cushions. Ed started to straighten up as he was suddenly spun to the side, "What are you-" he barely had time to gasp before Wilson's hand found his neck and pushed him back down onto the cushions. Ed's own left hand found it's way to his neck after the man had walked away. He watched, startled and wide eyed, as Wilson made his way back to the desk.

"Lay there for a few minutes," Wilson sat himself down in the large, leather-backed desk chair and opened up a coiled book that he began writing in.

Ed's eyes continued to watch the man with definite concern, his hand coming to his mouth as he cleared his throat. Finally giving up on his vigilance, Ed turned his attention to the ceiling, which was just as un-entertaining as everything else. He lost track of time as his mind struggled to remain focused and Ed subconsciously fought with himself to keep from coughing. He hated laying on his back for just that reason.

From the corner of his eye he caught movement - Ed jumped in surprise, startled by Wilson's sudden reappearance at the chair next to him. The man reached out and pulled Ed's tie off of his neck. Rubbing his hand over his face Ed gave off a disgruntled sigh realizing he simply did not have the energy to fight with the man. He knew the routine and undid the top three buttons of his shirt.

"You're a better sport than I thought," he put the cold end of the stethoscope end under his shirt; Ed's head rolled away so he could stare at the wall, "now tell me Edward, do you want to hear what I'm listening to or can you feel that every time you try to inhale?"

Ed's eyes tightened as he stared at the wall, barking 'shut up' or any other foul two-word combination was a waste of breath.

Deciding that he'd spent enough time invading Ed's heavily guarded bubble of privacy, Wilson stood up and unhooked the stethoscope from his neck, "That will clear up. Get a few more pillows so you're not flat on your back when you sleep; that should stop your cough. Once you're able to relax, it will do your body a wonder of good. Drink a lot of water as well, as hot as you like. The warmth is much more soothing. If you're still having problems sleeping, take a shot of brandy, it'll put you out."

Ed's eyes shot back over to him as he slowly sat up, somewhat concerned by the last statement. He watched the man walk back to the desk and, taken from within the tote bag, he tossed a dark fabric at him. Catching it up, Ed turned it over in his lap to figure out what he'd been handed.

"They're shorts. Put them on, I want to look at what's left of your leg. I'll be right back," and as he walked out of the room, the good doctor picked up the crutch laying carelessly in the middle of the floor, tucked it under his arm, and promptly exited.

Ed watched the door shut behind Wilson, his mouth hanging partially open as he tried to understand what this man thought he was doing by running away with his crutch.

The gathering of families collectively looked up from their tea as Wilson re-entered the room. The adults waited for Hohenheim to ask the question that had obviously kept him anti-social since the doctor had left with his son. It was Churchill who asked the question Hohenheim could not.

"So?"

"He'll be fine after a few nights of good rest. He's exhausted; you can see it on him clear as day if it's not evident in his behaviour," Wilson rolled his eyes as he walked around the congregation to an open chair, "There's still fluid in his lungs, that's what's not letting him sleep," he sat down in an open chair and looked to Hohenheim, "give him a few extra pillows, cushions and what not to prop himself up on while he sleeps. It'll keep the fluid from moving up and causing the irritation; he'll be able to get some decent rest once he stops coughing. When his body's not so tired, he'll be far better able to take care of himself, perhaps his disposition will brighten a little. I can't prescribe much more than what's been done for him already," picking up his pipe from the table, Wilson flicked a match into it, "you can take that look off your face now, it's been making everyone around you nervous."

Hohenheim's eyes widened slightly by the comment before he found himself suffering through the onset of laughter in relief of the stress, "Thank you."

Churchill gave Hohenheim a firm pat on his shoulder as he laughed alongside, "I told you, you were worrying too much. He'd be in much dire straights if he'd relapsed."

"Make sure he eats, shove it down his throat if he's being stubborn about it. He didn't finish everything at dinner and he looks quite thin - that was something that bothered me," Wilson took a deep inhale from his pipe, "He's a foul little bugger, how do you put up with him? If he were my son I would have boxed his ears or given him a good slap in the face for his behaviour. I can see why he's been frustrating you."

Hohenheim shook his head at the comment, "That's not how I do things Charles."

"Well now that's interesting, he was very pleasant in the kitchen before dinner," Mrs. Hyland re-crossed her legs, having kept silent for most of the conversation she'd suddenly drawing the two men's attention, "he was very charming helping Julie out. I needed the potatoes peeled and I had no intention of letting her handle a knife like that. Thomas volunteered the boy's services but Edward couldn't do it with just one hand, so Julie sat on his lap and handled the potatoes while he peeled them. He was very well mannered and good about the whole thing," she gave the men a doubtful look as she questioned the sincerity of their complaint against Ed.

Hohenheim fell silent at that for a moment, his eyes countered Louise as if to determine the validity of her statement. Her honest eyes looked back at him, in return questioning his assessment of Ed. He finally gave a hefty exhale and sank back into the couch once more, "That's… reassuring."

Wilson once again put his pipe back down on the table and stood up from his seat, "I've given him enough time. We'll see how this goes over." Walking around the gathering, Wilson stopped a few moments after having passed Hohenheim, "He needs to know how sick he was in that hospital, Hohenheim. He obviously doesn't remember or he wouldn't behave this poorly."

"I'll find an appropriate time talk to him Charles," Hohenheim wondered if his reassuring voice worked on everyone but himself.

Wilson continued to examine him for any further reaction, well aware that everyone in that room had told cranky boy's father the exact same thing, and each one had been given the same response. With an unimpressed sigh, he continued on his journey back up to the study. Moving up the stairs once more and back into the room where he'd exited minutes before, Wilson looked down to see if Ed had complied with the request.

As much as he wished he could, Ed's desire to fold his arms in protest was something he was unable to do. But having done as he'd been told, he sat in the black cotton shorts with his white dress shirt and braid as he stared off bitterly into the corner.

Charles grinned and once again sat down in the seat before Ed, "That's jolly good, it healed over better than I thought it would," he ran his fingers over the most prominent jagged scar line cutting across the bottom of Ed's stumped left leg. Ed flinched in his place at the touch and Charles looked glanced up to the boy's invaded expression.

"Sorry, is it sensitive?"

"Your hand is cold," Ed gave out under his breath as he turned his head away again.

The smile fell back on Wilson's face and he stood up and re-approached the desk. Placing the tote bag back down on the floor, the doctor opened the black case upon the desk, "This should be good enough for now."

Looking out of the corner of his eye, Ed watched the man produced a wooden leg from within the case. Giving the man his full attention, he turned himself to sit square on the cushion while Wilson moved back to Edward.

"It should do you for now, until you find something more to your liking," Wilson held the contraption in his hands for Ed's suddenly silent expression to look at, "prosthetics is not my specialty, but I had an old working buddy give me a hand in getting this. I took the measurements some time ago, so you better not have grown," Wilson was unaware that his comments should have provoked a violent response, yet Ed sat silent, "the ankle has a fairly good range of motion, the artificial tendons inside allow for the toes to push back - that'll help you walk easier. The knee joint is quite durable from what I was told, though I don't suggest you do much running or pounding up and down the stairs," sitting back down on the chair, the leg across his lap, he watched Ed continue to find himself at a loss for something to say.

"Do you want to try it out?" his eyes peered into Edward's humbled expression. Finally letting the mix of emotions fade away, Ed's gave recognition to Wilson's request.

"I can't afford something like that, I shouldn't," even if he thought for a moment he wanted to stand square on two legs, he could never bring himself to ask the man downstairs...

Grabbing him under his arm, Wilson pulled Ed off his seat and up to a standing position. With the sudden imbalance he felt from the swift motion, Ed instinctively gripped tightly on the man's shoulder to keep from falling. The doctor remained crouched over, steadying the leg upright on the ground. Giving Ed a slap on his left hip, he barked out a request, "Step down."

At the command, Ed shifted his unbalanced weight and stepped down with his left side. He stopped without toppling over, suddenly square to the world. It was the first time since he'd arrived that he'd been able to do such a thing. He looked down quickly at the casing, engulfing much of what remained of his left thigh and needing buckles to keep it from coming loose. It seemed so crude from what he was used to, yet it did not bother him as much as it may have under other circumstances. As if playing with a new toy, Ed rolled through the motions of his knee, ankle, and toes. The back of his mind thought how odd it felt to have his leg move through motion-control and not at the command of his own body. Unable to choose anything appropriate to say, he found himself saying nothing instead.

"That is yours by the way," Wilson said, standing himself up straight. He looked down to Edward who finally opened his mouth to speak, but the man stopped him, "Your father wanted to give that to you, but he was concerned you'd reject it if it came from him," the comment stopped Ed from challenging. His eyes fell before his head drooped and he glanced to the leg once more as he rolled through the ankle. He took a sharp inhale and clenched his fist. Wilson's voice caught him once again, "It's the wrong time of year for you to act as though you're an ungrateful child."

"Everyone in this city keeps referring to me as a child. I keep telling you I'm not," Ed's voice contained no bite, his mind was too distracted.

"You are always someone's child, no matter how old you are or how far away they are. I am twice your age, and I will always be my mother and father's child," Wilson challenged Ed's comment. The fall of Ed's defensive posture was as good as he could have expected, "and your father wishes you a Merry Christmas."

Ed shut his eyes as his shoulders fell. He took a deep breath in through his nose to re-organize his train of thought, and exhaled just as slowly before opening his eyes again, "I wish he wouldn't…"

Wilson narrowed his eyes at the response. He moved back to the wooden chair he'd claimed as his own, and sat down once more, "Have a seat for a few minutes." He glanced back up to Ed who moved cautiously at the request. Wilson waited for him to follow the cue.

Staring absently across the room, Ed sat on the floor. Propped up against the couch, his legs were outstretched beneath the coffee table. As if his mind were no longer in the presence of the room, his head sat tilted over his neck as his gaze burned within the crackling fireplace. Hanging untied around his shoulders, a few ends of Ed's blonde hair dangled in the collar of his shirt, only three quarters buttoned up.

Hohenheim stood at the side of the couch within Ed's peripheral vision. The longer he stood silently in place, the more he grew concerned at the lack of a response to his presence. He'd initially become concerned while the night wore on at the Hyland residence. He had no idea what to make of Ed's subdued reaction to the leg - was it a good or a bad thing? Ed had remained distant, offering very little to the conversations all evening. His interest seemed elsewhere. Perhaps the most startling occurrence that night was his request to go home around ten o'clock; though Hohenheim did not ask for a reason, Ed provided that he felt tired.

And since the moment he claimed his place within the den, Ed sat on the floor as devoid of existence as a rag dolls on a child's shelf. Finally, bending over, Hohenheim placed the teacup in front of his son. It was that action which finally caught Ed's attention and he brought a hand up to rub his eye.

"Hot water seems sort of plain, I thought you'd like tea instead."

Ed's eyes glanced at the teacup as he shifted in place, but gave no reply; his emptied expression ever-present.

"Don't sleep on my couch tonight either," Hohenheim stepped back from the table, "you can walk yourself upstairs to bed."

"I don't want your charity, old man."

It was a scripted line that he'd been hearing far too often over the last month and a bit. There was a scripted accompanying reply that Hohenheim didn't give today; something in hollowness of Ed's voice did not provoke it. He simply turned and started towards the hallway.

"Hey."

It wasn't so much the call that stopped Hohenheim, but rather the absence of tone that caught his attention. He waited in the late night for Edward to speak up once more, and they let the silence drag on until he was ready to speak again.

"Don't think that anything you'll ever do for me will make me forgive you."

Dropping his head slightly as he stood, Hohenheim slid his hands in his pockets, "I wouldn't expect you to," continuing to intrude on the aura of the room, he waited to see if more would come of the conversation. The clock made the loudest statement, as it began its twelve chimes for the new day. Having turned once more to exit the uncomfortable presence, Hohenheim kept an unfazed voice as the clock rang out, "Make sure you get to bed soon."

"Wait..."

Once again stopping before he could leave the room, Hohenheim waited for whatever comment would slap him next. By the time the echo of the final chime ceased, Ed's voice took its place.

"Your friends are interesting people," his voice trailed off as Hohenheim turned over his shoulder at the statement, "Mrs. Hyland is a good cook, Mr. Churchill's was entertaining at dinner, I hope Julie is able to be successful," he straightened his head on his shoulders while he spoke, "I couldn't remember Mr. Wilson, I think he figured that out on his own."

"You weren't doing well last time he'd seen you."

"After he gave me the leg, he told me some of what went on in the hospital."

"That…" Hohenheim's brow rose in sudden concern at the statement, "What did he tell you?"

The silence fell back upon the room as Hohenheim stood in-wait for a response. The light from the fireplace flickered its shadows around the room.

"Edward?"

"Sorry, I've been nothing but a problem for you."

Turning back into the room, Hohenheim moved over to Ed. He gave the coffee table a push out of the way before grabbing Ed under his arm and, using only the one hand, he pulled the boy to his feet. Standing in front of him, he straightened the shirt at Ed's shoulders and collar. Hohenheim turned him around, pulling the hair tie out of his own hair as he did so. Even though Ed's head tipped forward with a downcast expression, his father straightened his posture and pulled the blonde hair up into a ponytail for him, "You haven't been a problem."

All Ed could do was give a weak scoff at the comment.

Turning him back to face forward again, Hohenheim's hands came to rest on Ed's shoulders; he would find the strength to discuss the issue another day when they both felt better, "I think you should get some sleep, you'll feel better in the morning." the sigh Ed gave was as good as an acceptance, though Hohenheim had been referring to more than just his physical condition.

"If you sleep the night through, maybe Santa Clause will leave you a present."

"Is there something wrong with the present I already got?" his own puzzled comment on foreign holiday finally brought Ed out of whatever disillusioned state he'd locked himself up in. As he spoke, he did not notice the weight that lifted off of his father's shoulders. "That has to be the stupidest story I've ever heard. Big fat man, chimneys, sack of gifts - isn't this a religious holiday? Is the fat-man supposed to have something to do with religion?"

Not wanting to break the new flow of the conversation, Hohenheim took no time to adjust within the transition, "I don't believe so. But I haven't asked anyone and I don't think either of us should," a grin crossed his face at the thought of people's reactions.

"We'd sound pretty stupid, wouldn't we?"

"Most likely."

To Be Continued...

Author's Notes

As always, R&R is welcome and loved.

The next chapter will be back on track. This is a special chapter.

I'm running with the assumption that the Christmas holiday does not exist in the front side of the gate.

Ed refers to Hohenheim as "Oyaji" (best translated to "old man" in his context) in the latter half of the TV series, as opposed to any proper title like 'Dad' or 'Father'. For this chapter, Ed hasn't accepted the man as his father, and he makes it evident in how he addresses him.

Diana calls Louise Hyland "Aunty", but she's not really her aunt, just the family friend whom the children refer to as Aunt. The Hylands are not an actual family in our world.

Chapter 56 Feedback

I'm glad my depiction of Roy is going over well, I'm always a little concerned about how portray him. Seems I'm doing alright.