It seemed like the two had been spending more and more time in that building. Almost like a refuge from something they didn't wanted to admit. Funny, the truth they wanted to escape was discovered right in that very building.

Day after day, hour after hour. So much so, that it had seemed to become a second home, now. Or rather, the only home if you wanted to get technical.

It wasn't as if they didn't belong there—in all actuality, they were two of the few people with permission to that specific library. They weren't looking for anything, no, they had found that long ago. They knew what they had to do. If they could do it. Their whole journey up until this point, this very moment in time, had been called into question. Their motives, their path, their beliefs. But of course, higher beliefs had long been thrown away.

Perhaps it would be better to say that they weren't looking for anything physical as much they were mental. What course of action came next? And the new path that lay before them . . . was it the right one to take? Or maybe it would be better to turn away. To ignore everything that they learned and experienced on this journey. To drop out of state alchemist ranks and just disappear. To forget everything.

Everything.

Every little thing. Every excruciating detail. But then . . . what? Nothing? To throw away years of hard work and suffering for the "quiet life"? Maybe it would've been better if they had never tried it at all. If they had never tried to play the role of God. To try and change the course of the universe. But, who was to tell them otherwise at that time? A dead mother? A missing father? They were only children. Many before them tried and failed, and they were to think that they were any different? And in a way, they were. But not different enough. There's a reason the sun scorches. It was something they'd thought about, but kept deep below the surface.

But, was the other path any better? The thought of being called selfish also brought their motives into question. To take innocent, or non-innocent, lives for a single purpose? For a single mistake? Even if those lives were voluntarily given up. Even if those lives had grown tired of living and longed for death. Even those lives had taken souls of others. . . just to turn around and have their own lives stolen. To become . . .a murderer. No matter what label you attached to it, or how you looked at it, to choose this path was to become a murderer. A mass murderer, at that. They thought about this too, but buried it down even deeper.

Who exactly did they think they were? To have the nerve to try and bring back the dead. To tread on God's territory. Then, to contemplate killing people. What did this make them? Animals? Devils? They were called that, but they were only children. Behind the state alchemist title and the tough façade, they were nothing more than children. With fear and grief of their own, hidden deep inside. Fear and grief, that children, or anybody, should never have to experience. But, for every action, there was a consequence. The bigger the action, the greater the consequence. Sort of like Equivalent Exchange.

Edward let out a sigh, letting his head fall softly on the plush armrest of the couch he sat upon. He slid open heavy lids to stare darkly at the squeaking, rotating ceiling fan. It was afternoon; streaks of burnt orange sunlight squeezed their way through the loosely drawn shades, leaving oddly-shaped specks of light on the carpeted floor.

Papers and books were everywhere, as if someone had gotten mad at what they read. As if they knew truth, but didn't want to admit that that maybe the only way to get what they wanted. Almost like a child who threw a tantrum because they couldn't get what they wanted. Only, this child could get what he wanted, but was unsure if it was really worth it.

They had been over these papers dozens of times, nothing new met their eyes. They searched over and over for some, any, possible flaw in their translation, a missed sentence, a loophole. Nothing. Every time they looked over these notes, Ed felt his frustration mounting. It was Al who always encouraged him to look again and again. Something about Al's voice, they way he gently urged Ed to search again, gave him the thin sliver of hope that there was a mistake made. But in the back of his mind, Ed knew that every word would be exactly the same as the first time it was read. Every sentence, every letter, every punctuation exactly the same as the last time.

Maybe the only reason he agreed to look again was for Al's own sake. To show Al that he hadn't given up, though the dark thought of quitting lingered in the back of his mind. But he wouldn't let Al see it. Just like always. He never let Al see his fears, his doubts. And he'll never let him see those worries, flaws, doubts. Never.

Alphonse shifted slightly to look at Ed. He was sprawled over the couch, dead silent. With an arm nonchalantly hanging over the edge. There was something that Al didn't like. It was almost as if Ed was saying, "That's it. It's over." Though silent, body language is still a powerful thing. He watched from behind unseeing eyes, heart heavy. Al noticed how the muscles in Ed's arm, chest, face, his whole body, would tense up even the slightest bit.

"What do we do now, brother?" Al asked. True, he asked this question a number of times after learning the truth. And it was the same. The answer was always the same. Silence. . . followed by a mumbled, "I don't know." Yet, somehow, Al always managed to muster up enough hope to think that the answer would be different this time.

A soft sound of fabric rustling was made as Ed tilted his head down to the side, his amber eyes roved lazily over the carpeted floor. He let out a gentle whoosh of air though his nose. There was the expected silence, followed by the anticipated, "I don't know, Al. I don't know."

And oddly enough, Al was content with his reply this time. Maybe it was the fact that he was able to hear his name again. His brother hadn't spoken it an awhile, and he supposed he just missed hearing it. It had been a while since Ed had addressed him directly. And for now, Al was happy. Or rather, as happy as he could be in this situation.

He pushed the other thing to the back of his mind, but not out. And for now, that was okay.