since people again asked...here is some more Hohenheim and Edward angst and such. methinks this might be it though. unless some real spectacular inspiration hits. it seems...done.lyrics are from "Lost and Damned" by Kamelot.-fireun

"Don't ask why
Don't be sad
Sometimes we all
Must alter paths we planned
Only try to understand
I want to save you
From the lost and damned"

Hohenheim stared at the place at the table his son should have been, had the young man not just stormed out in the disjointed gait which signaled intense unhappiness. Edward demanded things that his body could not grant him in this place where automail what a mechanics wet dream as opposed to a common reality. This resulted in a limp that was painful to watch as Edward forgot his current handicap in favor of being angry.

It had been a particularly magnificent spat, a rather unnecessary rehash of things past, mistakes and choices made which nothing could be done about. It was the past. No matter how unpleasant, how distasteful or idiotic, it was the past, and had to be tolerated as such.

The elder Elric wondered what the hell to do with his unwilling son. Hell, the boy wouldn't even call him father. At least not while awake…There were nights when Hohenheim would be woken by the sound of his son thrashing in bed, calling for his mother, for Alphonse, for his father, in such a broken, terrified voice…Those were the times he could slip into Edwards room, delicately soothe him back to sleep without waking, caressing a finger down the bridge of his nose until the wrinkles eased from his forehead and breathing steadied. It had been the only way to get a much younger Edward to sleep so many years ago. Even in all the pain and anger between them, it still managed to lull Edward into a more pleasant place, perhaps where he could imagine his mothers arms around him, being rocked gently…or his fathers beaming smile.

"I couldn't have stayed…" Hohenheim snarled at the empty seat. "How the hell could I have stayed? Would you have had be let Trisha watch me rot? How would you have taken that? Would it have made you happy?"

"No, but you could have fucking tried…"

Ah, so Edward hadn't wandered as far as usual. Hohenheim stood, knocking his chair back in a nasty scratch of wood against wood. "Tried what, Edward? To make some last minute, brilliant alchemical discovery that would have made it all better?" He turned, fixing his intense stare on his son.

"Yes." Stubborn, oh his son was so stubborn…

"What the hell do you think I was trying to do all those years? Why I spent so much time with my books?" The musty smell of books, mixing with the delicious aroma of Trisha cooking, the shrill laughter of his toddler son…the weight of time slinking past… "Did you find the philosophers stone so easy to discover and create?"

"Don't forget what we had
But let me save you from the lost and damned"

Not even Edwards brand of stubborn could hold steady in the face of that. He had seen a philosophers stone created, had seen the aftermath…had spent years chasing it. His face fell, collapsing out of anger fueled by a stubborn drive into a desperate sort of unhappiness. Damn but he needed something to be angry at; something to focus on…it was a pain when the target of his ire did not cooperate. "Bastard…"

"There are other ways of referring to me that aren't quite as unpleasant." Hohenheim sighed, another old, dusty argument. It seemed the day for them. Edward must have had a particularly fruitless study of ways to get back across the gate. "For what its worth, we are family. You didn't mind so much a few years ago…"

"A few? By your count maybe, old man." It was a feeble attack, lacking any sort of heat, as Edward plopped into his chair with a snort or derision. "Some of us have not been around for a handful of lifetimes."

"Don't remind me. I am starting to creak." Hohenheim settled back into his own chair, reclaiming his mug of coffee.

"Starting? Your hearing must be going as well, cause I have been hearing you creak since I smacked you back in Rizenbule." Edward chuckled lightly, wondering how exactly to get his coffee back to a drinkable warm and not the pathetic tepid it was currently…

"Maybe you shouldn't hit people that hard." Hohenheim retorted, pondering whether or not Edward would get angry again if he attempted to get him a new mug of coffee…

"Hey, old man, creak over to the stove and get me some more to drink. You got me so pissed earlier that I let my coffee get cold."

"Aren't you supposed to respect your elders?" Hohenheim hauled himself to his feet.

"Only if they earn it. Our Master, now there was someone to respect. She kicked it into us until we weren't going to forget it."

"So I should have taken a belt to you when you were younger?" Hohenheim cocked an eyebrow, a smile twitching at the edges of his lips.

"No, bastard! That is not at all what I am saying!"

"Well, I wouldn't have been able to hit such a small child…"

"Who are you saying is so small that a villain wouldn't even bother to attack!" Edward growled.

"Would you like some milk in your coffee?"

"Damn it, pops, you KNOW I take it black."

An awkward sort of truce declared over shared coffee and verbal wounds. It was a ritual as familiar as the anger itself; snarl, pause, then the little placations like shared drinks and maybe a walk through town, neither ever completely comfortable with the others presence.

Edward would rub at the juncture of arm and prosthetic, and Hohenheim would track one powerful hand along his shirt, tracing the path of dying flesh hidden by long sleeves. That feeling of time almost sitting and waiting still lingered, watching patiently for him to falter. He knew it. And just as it had been so many years ago, he wanted nothing more than for his son to be gone before it got much worse. The last thing he wanted was for Edward to watch another family member waste away and die. He wanted his son to find a way home…almost as much as he wistfully wanted Edward to look back at him and smile. Just once. He wanted his son back, and then he wanted him gone.

Thankfully Edward continued as he always had, walking to his fathers left, and a little in front, never once looking back to make sure the man was still there.

"Leave me behind
Don't look back
Because deep within you know
I'm lost and damned"

maboroshi hime - sometimes i want a beta. just to check on structural things. like grammar, which is the bane of my existence. i know how i want the sentences to look...grammar just usually tells me that it is not possible. ah well. i am glad you liked. i reaaaaaaaaaaally like writing hohenheim and ed ficlets/drabbles. some good conflict and interaction to try and make sense of.

Pickles - since you liked the first bit, i worked on a little more. i hope it is all right!