Disclaimer : All characters within belong to the creators of Fullmetal Alchemist.

Drinking Partners

Edward trudged into the bar and stopped for a moment, looking around. The interior was lit with torches set into the walls instead of the standard electric lights, giving it an old-fashioned, yet natural look. The smell of smoke hung in the air, not oppressive but simply there, in its own way as natural as the torches on the walls. A large plaque on the far wall proudly proclaimed that Mac's Bar had been in business for over forty years. Behind the counter, the bartender - presumably none other than Mac himself - stood, polishing a beer glass which, judging from the chips and scratches, had been around as long as Mac's Bar itself had.

The tables were unoccupied - the sun still hung in the sky, and the night crowd had yet to come - but the counter itself played host to a handful of people. Edward chose an isolated seat and sat down. The bartender ignored him. Edward cleared his throat loudly. The bartender, with a cool gaze that spoke of years of experience, looked him slowly up and down, then went back to polishing his glass. Eyes darkening, Edward said, "Look-"

He would have said more, but someone chose that moment to sit down beside him.

The man sitting at his side was large and burly, dressed in a loose blue shirt and pants. His gray hair and wrinkled features told Edward that he was past his prime, but there was still obvious power in his muscled frame, tempered by the wisdom and experience that came with age. He turned and smiled at Edward, then said, "Give him a drink, Mac. One for me, too. I'm paying." His voice was a rough, low bass that rumbled like a drum.

Edward started and opened his mouth to protest, but stopped as the bartender handed him a mug of beer. Taking it gingerly, he looked up at his benefactor, who was now nursing a mug of his own. "Uhh... thanks," he said, hesitantly, then took a long drink.

The man laughed, a hearty guffaw that seemed to shake the building as Edward slammed his mug down on the counter and gasped for breath, his eyes wide. "First time drinking, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," snapped Edward, red flooding his cheeks as he glared at the man. "I'm just... not used to it." He took another sip, slower this time, and smiled as it went down alright. "See?"

Shaking his head ruefully, the man said, "You remind me of my younger brother, you know; he hated being made fun of just as much as you do. Had a temper on him like you wouldn't believe, too. Anyone poked fun at him and he just went crazy, shouting like a lunatic." He peered at Edward over the edge of his mug, his voice muffled by the glass. "You wouldn't happen to be like that, would you?"

Edward suddenly found some fascinating patterns in the grain of the counter to examine. "Of course not!" he said, sheepishly. The man smiled knowingly and said nothing.

A few minutes passed in silence as Edward drained his mug. He wasn't sure whether it was the beer loosening his tongue, or just from simple curiosity, but either way he found himself opening his mouth. "Your brother... what is he like?"

The man set his mug down and stroked his beard, his expression set in thought. "Let's see..." he mused, as if the memories were locked inside a box and he had to retrieve them. "Well, for starters, he was always stubborn as a mule. If things didn't go his way, then damn it all, he was going to make them go his way, and anyone who got in his way was going to be sorry." His voice was fond.

Edward found himself nodding, despite himself.

"Because of that goddamn stubborn streak, we always used to get into fights... I guess I teased him more than I should've. Once I went too far, and he left. Just picked up his bags and left."

Against his better judgement, Edward plowed on. "Did you two make up?"

The man chuckled and shook his head. "He never would have believed me if I told him I was sorry, so I didn't try. The last time I saw him, we ended up fighting again. There was too much bad blood between us."

"You still should have tried!" Edward blurted, forgetting himself.

"Maybe I should have," the man said, nodding slowly. He shrugged and took another deep swig of beer, swallowed. "It doesn't matter either way now; he's dead."

"Oh." Edward said, feeling like a complete ass. He frantically tried to think of something - anything - to say.

"Don't feel sorry about it, kid," the man said, his tone that of someone who had seen and done everything there was to see and do, had found some bad things among them... and had managed to see past them to all the good things that were there as well. "What happens, happens."

He blinked and frowned as he noticed that the boy wasn't drinking from his own refilled mug. "Enough about me and my brother," he said, changing the subject. "What about you? Why'd you choose today to start drinking? You don't strike me as the type who'd go and get drunk just for the hell of it."

Edward sighed, shaking his mug in little circles and watching the beer inside swirl lazily. "I killed someone, yesterday." A small part of him knew he was drunk now; there was no way he'd have told a complete stranger something like that so easily. But the words were already spilling out of his mouth in a steady flood, and he couldn't stop them.

"I didn't mean to do it," he said, looking up at the man with pleading eyes. "It's just that... he'd kidnapped my little brother, and I couldn't think of anything except getting him back." He was drunk, but not so drunk that he didn't know how stupid it all sounded, and he blushed, turning and taking another drink from his mug - how many times had it been refilled now?

He started as a heavy hand came down on his shoulder and rested there for a moment. "Little brothers can do that to you," the man agreed, his voice tinged with a deep sadness that hadn't been there before. "They annoy the hell out of you every day, and you think you can't stand them. You wish they'd just go away and die, right?" He raised his glass and stared at it reflectively. "Then they're gone, and you wake up one day and realize that you'd have moved the world for them."

"That's not the point," Edward said uncomfortably, staring down at his empty mug and idly wondering, in the back of his head, when he'd drunk it all. "It turned out that he wasn't such a bad guy after all... the kidnapper, that is. He'd already let my brother go before I found him. And he wasn't supposed to die when I stabbed him!" he blurted suddenly, knowing even as he said it how preposterous it sounded.

"Let me give you a tip, kid. It's based on personal experience: Nothing ever happens like it's supposed to," the man said. "But if you keep on regretting things every time you fuck something up, you'll never be able to do anything good to balance them out, eh?"

Edward nodded grudgingly and said, "I guess you're right. But-" He cut off as the man patted him on the back hard enough to knock him into the counter.

"That's the spirit," the man said, chuckling again. "But I have to tell you, you're the one who's missing the point." Edward looked up, puzzled. "You said the kidnapper let your brother go. Did you find him again?"

"Well, yes..."

"Mmm," the man grunted, nodding. He sighed heavily, and something that could have been regret flickered in his eyes, although it was gone before Edward could be sure. "Little brothers have a way of slipping away from you if you're not careful, kid. Keep an eye on him."

Silence blanketed the two again. Edward mulled over his thoughts - or tried to, as he found it increasingly harder to stay awake. His eyes started to close of their own accord; how many glasses of beer had he had? "Hey," he said suddenly, as something occurred to him. His voice slurred as his eyes shut and he laid his head on the counter, finding it to be unusually soft and comfortable for a wooden shelf. "What did you say your brother's name was, again?"

The man stared down at the slumbering boy for a while, emotions flickering across his face like firelight.

"His name..." he said softly, in a strangely androgynous, high pitched tenor that sounded completely out of place coming from his bearded mouth. He put down enough money to cover the tab, got up, and walked out of the bar without a backwards glance.

"His name was Greed."

Author's Notes:

I assume you know who the man was, right?

This certainly doesn't mesh with the Envy we all know and love, does it? Especially considering how he feels about the Elrics, and what he does later. :sighs: It just kinda ran away from me, ya know? It bugs me.

Oh fuck it. That's all a lie, I just wanted to write mushy Envy. :laughs and ruffles Envy's hair: Now I'm dead. XD

P.S. My view of what they were like back before Greed was sealed comes entirely from Swordage's fic 'On Growing'. :gives it much love: