A note from the Hime no Argh herself—
Many thanks to those who read and reviewed the first chapter. There will be many more where that came from, as many as I can write. This one's a bit special. The original concept came from a Full Metal Alchemist fanfic my friend Danny is writing, The Diary of Edward Elric. With his permission I'm posting this.
Title: Another Entry
Summary: Edward rages. Hohenheim listens.
Disclaimer: I don't own FMA.
Another Entry
The door opened, then shut with a firm click. Hohenheim watched his son walk across the foyer without looking up once, mouth drawn tightly, eyes glittering with anger. His footsteps thudded on the rickety wooden staircase. A door upstairs opened, then quietly closed.
Hohenheim glanced down at his watch, counting the seconds. One…two…three…four…
A heavy crash from the above floor shook the entire house. Hohenheim suspected that the bookcase in his son's room was no longer standing against the wall. He sat back in his chair with a sigh and listened as his son raged around his room for a quarter of an hour, cursing in German, punctuating the usual quiet of Hohenheim's house with more crashes and thuds. Hohenheim could never guess where his first child with Trisha had gotten his temper—certainly not from himself or his late wife.
At last the noise stopped—either Edward had finally calmed down, or he'd run out of things to destroy. Hohenheim waited five minutes to make sure he was finished, then ascended the stairs and crossed the hall to his son's room. When his soft knock garnered no response from within, he cautiously opened the door.
The mess was spectacular. The bookcase was indeed lying on the floor—a desk was also upended, the contents of its drawers scattered, a wooden leg snapped off. There were several holes and dents in the plaster walls. Paper was strewn everywhere—it looked as though Edward had ripped apart every book he owned. In the midst of the destruction stood his son, fists clenched, shoulders shaking slightly, breathing hard and glaring at Hohenheim as though all this were his fault.
"Six years," Edward said through gritted teeth. "I've wasted six years. That Einstein bastard was right."
It was more than his life was worth to tell his son I told you so. Stalling for time while he tried to think of something to say, Hohenheim glanced down at the mess of papers and torn books at his feet, nudging through them with his toe. One volume, amazingly, seemed to be whole. Hohenheim picked it up, reaching for a handkerchief to clear the dust and plaster from the cover.
His mouth fell open in astonishment as he thumbed through the pages. It was a diary, written in Edward's hand, detailing his accomplishments in this world, his failures, his best moods and his worst moments of despair—and every single entry was addressed to his brother Al. The dates went back to the year Edward had crossed the Gate permanently into this world. All of these years Edward had been writing to his brother, letters that Alphonse might never see or even know existed.
Hohenheim gently closed the diary and offered it to his son. Edward stared at it as though he'd never seen it before in his life, then slowly reached out a hand and took it. He glared at his father again, as though daring him to comment on the journal's contents.
Hohenheim merely shrugged. "Just keep trying."
Silently, father and son got to work cleaning up the mess.
Next link: Hell
Alphonse, Edward, and a blood-splattered cellar.
