Title: Learning To Live
Part: 2/7

Rating: M

Character: Hughes, Mustang, Alphonse, Schieska
Disclaimer: Although I wish I did, I have no claim over any of the characters of FMA, nor the plot, nor anything else—that wonder lies solely on Hiromu Arakawa.

Warnings: This takes place completely out of order of the series—in fact, it's not even in the series, or the upcoming movie. I suppose you could call it an alternate ending to the tale of the late and great Hughes, although others could call it much more than that

PART II

Three Years Later

A crash so loud it shook Central Headquarters resounded from Major Maes Hughes' office. Several stunned seconds later, complaining directed towards the Major's office became of a volume to almost equal the ringing from the crash.

"ALPHONSE ELRIC!"

Another, much smaller crash resonated, and then a tumble of blue and black and brown made itself evident, unfolding into a teenager with a rapidly-growing bruise on his head even as he fell plop on his bottom.

The door next to Hughes' opened, revealing a pale man with hair the color of midnight, and his companion, whose rugged features belied his innocence—which was quite evident in his thin wisp of a blond curl he called hair. Although the former was not spectacularly short, the latter made it seem so. He had to duck to get out of the doorway, which in itself was of no small stature.

The dark-haired man—the man who actually had hair—stepped forward first, and stopped several paces from the embarrassed-looking youth. A moment later a cocky, arrogant smile lifted his thin lips, and with it his entire face transformed.

"Second Lieutenant Elric." He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and clucked his tongue, like a child warning another of foolish danger. "I thought you had grown out of this…"

The wispy-hair-man stepped forward, and with a yank that seemed to cost him no effort but obviously shook Alphonse to his bones, lifted the Second Lieutenant to his feet. "T-thank you very much, Mr. Armstrong," Al said quietly, and offered a tentative smile to the dark-haired man as he brushed off. "I'm very sorry, Lieutenant Colonel. I promise—"

"No promises from you, young man," Hughes said, standing in his own doorway, apparently having watched the entire episode. "I have enough of those from you in my pocket already, most of them about not falling over near the rare books. You know how upset it makes Schieska."

Even as he spoke, a scream rang from the floor below.

Al had the shame to blush--ferociously.

Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, with an almost vain flip of his dark hair, turned back to the matter at hand. "Besides," he said, "you should be calling Armstrong by his rank, not his name, Elric." And with that he let the conversation be, and went back to his own office where a blond, hawk-eyed woman waited, and Armstrong followed. The door shut quietly behind them.

Sixteen-year-old Alphonse Elric turned back to his current authority and the only who had been willing to take him under his wing: Maes Hughes. Ever since that final transmutation six years ago, when Ed had vanished and Al had returned to his ten-year-old self, with no memories of the past four years, Al had become positively unwavering in his desire to find his brother again. Over the years, the people he had known had told him what they knew of what had happened, and although only some things had been known between the brothers, Amestris' military—and Winry—had known a great deal of it. So, little over a year ago, once he had stopped training with his teacher of alchemy, Izumi, he had marched right up to Central Headquarters itself and demanded to take the alchemy exam. The men there, ignorant of his unique situation, had refused—at first. They were inclined to let the young man take the test after the display he had created. One of the men still had to cut twigs out of his hair every morning.

Of course, Al had passed the test, and become a State Alchemist. But that hadn't been enough for him. In order to stay close to those who had once known his brother, he had also joined the country's military, and found out that the life did not agree with him at first. People had been unwilling to befriend him, simply because they thought he would be the same as his temperamental, if efficient, brother. However, as the months had dragged on, almost everybody but the hardest-hearted had become friends with the teen; Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, with whom he shared his rank, had grown particularly fond of him.

And then Hughes had found himself short of an assistant, since Schieska had asked for a raise, and that meant deportment to a different department. She had hated working with Hughes anyways, since when They were alive, all he would do was flash pictures of Them, but now that They were gone…

Either way, Al had accepted the job gratefully, and with it had been raised to Second Lieutenant.

Hughes was afraid, though, that if the boy kept going on as he had, he would find himself back as a Private.

"Major Hughes?"

The calm, inquisitive voice broke Hughes' through daydreams. Shaking his head, he focused back on the teen. God, if he didn't watch out, the boy would soon be taller than him—he already surpassed Mustang in height, and the Lieutenant Colonel had not been very happy with that.

Hughes allowed himself to smile grimly at the boy—the only smile he allowed anyone anymore, even Mustang. "Come on," he said, and lead them back into his office.

Al set about cleaning right away. He knelt to begin re-shelving the books, and looked up at Hughes with a half-lost look in his eyes. "Major," he began, "will you tell me more about Edo?"

The boy constantly wanted to hear about his brother. Hughes sat behind his desk and opened one of the drawers to reveal a seven-year-old of Edward Elric, the once FullMetal Alchemist, and handed to Al, who set about exploring it with his fingertips again, his face alight. It always saddened Hughes when he watched the boy do this; it was almost as if he thought he could bring Ed, or Edo, as Al called him, back to life just by tracing the same picture over and over again, no matter how lovingly he did it.

"You brother," Hughes began, "was under Mustang at the same time I was, despite the fact that I've always been under him. Mustang had originally sought you two out because of who your father had been—Hoenheim Elric, one of the greatest alchemic researchers of this age. Well, Ed was all fine and dandy about becoming a State Alchemist, but you see, the catch was that he had to serve Mustang, loyal as a puppy, and he was never happy with that…"

Another day. Another stupid day. Another day without Them.

Hughes thoughts were mirrored on his face. His look had improved much since that night three years ago, when he had answered the door to Aruko as ragged as any common beggar. He had cut and greased his hair, and a shower from that morning made him still smell faintly of soap. Likewise, his shadow of a beard was no longer the full-fledged nest it had been that night.

Only his eyes betrayed his inner anguish.

Not many people looked him in the eyes, he knew. Mustang was one of the few who dared. Riza, too, Mustang's closest secretary, and most-likely paramour. And then Al, of course. He didn't seem to care seeing the pain in others' eyes; after all, why should he care when the same agony leaked from his every so often?

Everybody else was too frightened to look at him squarely. Even Havoc and Fuery, one-time friends, hesitated to look at him, and even then they only did so when he wasn't looking at them. Armstrong seemed torn, the poor man; half the time he was bold as Mustang and Riza, the other half he was as Havoc and Fuery.

Hughes didn't mind, really, he didn't. He was almost used to it by now. Everywhere he went, people he had once known closely were now trying to comfort with every one of his steps. They just didn't understand. How could they? Even those who should have—friends from the Ishbal War, those who had lost sons and daughters and mothers and fathers—didn't get it. They were always telling him to "keep his chin up!" or "tomorrow's a new day!" How could they not understand? He would never again be able to lift his head again; the weight of his grief was simply too much for this sorry once-human carcass.

The clouds overhead also reflected his mood as he entered Central Headquarters. Dark and unstable, they looked as if they would just as likely let the sun break through as they would flood the earth.

A simple flash of his security card, and a reminder of his name, was enough to satisfy the guards posted. Hughes entered his office to find a whirlwind of action, mostly of his secretary trying to be everywhere at once: Al brewing tea; Al turning the radio down to call a jovial "Good morning"; Al sweeping the dust into a pan, then emptying the pan out the window and apologizing when it hit some guard in the head; Al trying to reorganize the books, but not having the greatest luck with it, and it all ended with another tremendous—

CRASH.

"ALPHONSE!"

"Al, I've told you a million times, you really don't need to reorganize the books." Hughes handed the boy a bag of ice, and Al stopped rubbing his sore head long enough to place the ice on it and flinch. To add insult injury, Mustang's delivery this morning had been rather harsh.

"But, Major!" Al cried out, "as long as I'm stationed here at Central, or unless Must…the Lieutenant Colonel puts me on another assignment, I'm your secretary!" He flinched again and uttered a low "ow" when the ice hit a particularly tender spot.

Hughes couldn't help it at that moment…Al just reminded him so much in that one moment of the Younger One, with her constant call of "Papa!" and obsession of tasks that usually got her hurt. It just wasn't in him to refuse…He smiled. Smiled for the first time in three years. And then, when he realized what he had done, covered it up before Al turned to look at him with watery eyes.

"It stings," he whined, like the child he once had been. The child he had been before he and Ed had to—

But of course, it wasn't like Al remembered that.

"Here." Hughes adjusted the bag so it wasn't quite covering the tender ache, but was close enough it would still stop the swelling.

Al just grinned, but had enough shame that his ears and cheeks turned a ruddy pink.

Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang's eyebrow twitched as he spoke. "Hughes, that boy has to go."

Hughes jumped, genuinely surprised. When Mustang had invited him in, he had thought it was so that the Colonel could try one of his comforting tricks again. But this…well, this hadn't been quite so predictable.

"Mustang, I need him," Hughes replied, keeping his voice level. He had learned long ago that railing at the Flame Alchemist would do nothing but get you burned, sometimes quite literally.

Mustang's brow twitched again. "Why?"

"Sir, he's loyal and hard-working, despite the fact that—"

"That he ruins your office every morning?" Jean Havoc entered the room, a cigarette in between his lips as usual, his blond hair rumpled, also usual. When Hughes sent him a questioning glance, he explained, "Lieutenant Colonel said he wanted me here. Sorry if I interrupted." He pulled up a chair and sat in it backwards, letting his chin rest on his hands on the backrest and his legs stretch out. He watched Mustang almost critically.

Hughes turned back to Mustang, now thoroughly confused. What did Havoc have to do with whether the boy could be his assistant or not? "Sir, if I might suggest," he started.

"Suggest all you want," Mustang mumbled, now rubbing his temples as his brow continued to twitch chronically, "but the boy is going."

Havoc stole a glance at Hughes, and then switched it to Mustang when the Major turned to him. Havoc's eyes, partly obscured by the smoke of that foul stick in his mouth, seemed glazed over, thoughtful.

"Lieutenant Colonel," he broke in, "I think I might have a solution."

"Try me," Mustang grumped, daring Havoc with his deadly glare.

"What if you just reassigned the boy, and then picked out a new assistant for the Major yourself?"

Hmmm. Not quite what Hughes himself had been thinking, but then again, it might work. He'd still be able to se the boy whenever he wanted, and at the same time the morning yelling bouts would cease. Hmmm. Maybe Havoc wasn't just some smoker after all.

Mustang's unusually sharp ears seemed almost to perk up, like a cat that's heard the word "treat". He leaned forward.

"You know, Havoc, maybe you're not just some smoker after all."

A week and a half later, Hughes entered the office to find Al gone. And everything looked as though he'd left it half-done: the floor was only clean from the window over; the tea kettle was whistling, but shrilly, as though there was no water in it; and the books were as neat and tidy as Al had left them yesterday.

It was quite a puzzle to Hughes. That boy never left anything unfinished in his life, let alone the office. What could have happened?

Midway through the morning, Hughes got his answer. Al bumbled in, looking tired and worn-out and sad and depressed all at once; plus, it was obvious he hadn't bathed the night before, as was usual.

"Alphonse, what happened?" Hughes knew he shouldn't pry, but he also knew he had to know. Not many events could throw the boy out of line—and this boy wasn't just out of line, he was out of orbit.

"I'm sorry, Major," Al apologized, and sank into the chair before Hughes' desk with none of his usual grace or refinement. "But the Lieutenant Colonel wanted to talk to me, and, well…"

Al seemed to be stalling, something else he never did. What was wrong with him? "What happened?"

Al looked up into Hughes' eyes with watery ones. Oh, no.

"The Lieutenant Colonel reassigned me."

Hughes had known this would happen, he had positively known; why hadn't he had the discretion to tell Al? And now, despite the fact that he still felt mostly dead, one little part of him that had felt alive when he was with boy vanished. God, he hadn't thought this would happen. And Al was still pleading him with those huge, gray, eyes full of tears.

Suddenly Al tried to smile. It clashed sharply with the tears and his ruddy face and wet cheeks, and when he realized his ears turned pink. "It's all right, Major, at least—"

"Where'd he transfer you to?" Hughes suddenly wanted this conversation over. Then at least he wouldn't have some young child in his office crying and smiling all at the same time and making his heart ache and reminding him so much of Elicia it hurt—

No. Not the name. Never speak the name.

Dear God, what had he done to deserve this?

Al looked around as though pained, his brows pulled together in a sorrowful glare. "The library," he mumbled, and his cheeks and ears turned pinker.

"Good God," Hughes whispered. His heart had beat into overdrive when Al had said that, but not with pain--with joy. The first real joy Hughes had felt in a long time.

And here Al was, making it all out like they would never see each other again!

"Al," Hughes started, "you do know that we'll probably see each other everyday, right? Even with you working in the library."

Al's eyes grew wet again. "But," he blubbered, "it won't be the same!"

"I doubt it will be, Hughes said, "but still, you need to start—"

Al shot up from his chair and dove around the desk like a firecracker. Next thing Hughes knew, all the air was being driven out of him and some warm, wet-cheeked boy was holding him so tightly he though his stomach would burst. He blinked a few times, just to make sure he wasn't daydreaming or dreaming, period—nobody had dared touch him in years, ever since that night. Why this rambunctious, temperamental…the image in front of Hughes' blurred, making the hair look longer and blond instead of the short and chestnut it was, and when the child looked up the grin looked cheeky and the eyes gold instead of gray and the kind smile Hughes knew should have been there.

Before he had the time to embrace it in turn, the image pulled away, and the flyaway brown hair and gray eyes were reaffirmed.

"I'm sorry," Al whispered, and wiped his cheeks wit his sleeves. "I know I'm sixteen, and I shouldn't be…"His words faded, and he turned to leave.

Struck with inspiration, Hughes delved into one of the many drawers of his desk. "Al, wait!"

The boy paused, and turned halfway around.

Finding what he wanted, Hughes, rushed up to him with a burst of energy he hadn't felt for years, and which he knew would be gone in a few moments. That's why he had to do this now. For Al's sake. "Here," he said, and pressed the object into Al's palm.

The second-youngest State Alchemist in Amestris' history looked down into his hand at the only picture he'd ever seen of his brother, and smiled at Hughes. In that moment, when the corner of his lips lifted and his teeth were exposed, and his gray eyes were closed in what could have been called a double-wink, Hughes saw double: both of the Elric boys, side-by side, back-to-back, grinning and winking and looking as happy as if they had finally found each other again.

In that moment, Hughes had no doubts that they could.

This piece of writing, fiction that it is, is dedicated to my nii-san, Hanna Jones. Thank you for always being there when I needed you, nii-san

even if you weren't there in person.