I don't own any of the characters from Full Metal Alchemist. Love the idea of Roy and Ed.

Author's Note:

I had a really bad day yesterday, and then I got home and checked my emails and had received a review on one of my fics and…let's just say I was really not in the mood. And the only thing I could think of doing was writing it out of my system. Hence this short and somewhat incoherent ficlet. And perhaps a mini-hiatus from my other stories while I pull myself together. I mean, I would normally try to do something about SK and FFVII this weekend, but sometimes, I think, you have to allow yourself to be weak. And yes, I do know constructive criticism is supposed to be a good thing, but when you're already feeling battered by real life…I think it was Pliny the Elder back in 400 B.C. who wrote, "Criticism comes easier than craftsmanship." While we're supposed to learn from feedback, I implore everyone to bear his words in mind. People posting on have generally devoted a good amount of time and effort to their work. Even when you have something to criticize about it, be kind, and do not cloak negativity in the guise of 'helpful' criticism. For the good karma, if nothing else. Because you just don't know if the other person, the one who put themselves out there, just might have had…a bad day.

For my little sister. Miss you lots.

Lyrics below from the song "Bad Day" by Daniel Powter.

PERDITION: BAD DAY

Where is the moment we needed the most
You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost
They tell me your blue skies fade to grey
They tell me your passion's gone away
And I don't need no carryin' on

Even though Alphonse Elric was currently a bodiless soul bound by his brother's blood to a suit of amour, he was incredibly sensitive to the moods of those around him. Whenever he thought about it, he wondered if this ability was something he'd always had, or was something that had developed in recompense for his lack of physical sensitivity. No nerves, no physical sensation, after all. He missed that a good deal, but there were advantages. Like not getting drunk, and ill, and utterly wasted, for instance. He sighed as he eyed his brother, who was hiccupping miserably into a drink, his white-gloved hands wrapped tightly around the glass as though it were an anchor in a storm-tossed sea.

"'nother one."

"Brother, you really shouldn't, you've had enough for one night." What had Colonel Mustang been thinking, to suggest the brothers come here to get some dinner before turning in for the night? So the mess hall had been closed by the time the brothers had returned from their latest mission, but they could have waited for breakfast. He was going to have to give the Colonel a talking to the next time he saw the man, Al promised himself darkly. He was normally very respectful of adults, but seeing as how Mustang was responsible for his brother's current state, in more ways than one….

Red-rimmed eyes glared up unfocusedly. "Al. I've had a really bad day, okay? I don'…don' wanna have to think 'bout anythin' right now. 'cept more beer. Is that what 'm having?" He peered blearily at his glass.

The suit of amour sighed heavily. "Brother, you're really too young to be drinking this much…you're fourteen."

"…nah. They gave me a fuckin' watch thing…pocket watch…" he fumbled clumsily at his waist for it, almost falling off his stool. "Means I'm old enough to kill in 'the service of the state'" he quoted, fingers inscribing exaggerated quotation marks in the air. "So 'm definitely old…old 'nough to kill myself drinkin'…State Alchemists have special privileges, don't you know? Section 1a) Clause 2) Sub-clause iv) Paragraph 7) Part c)," he enunciated with that dispassionate crystal clarity that he was able to summon up at the most peculiar times.

"Brother…"

"Al, please. I jus'…I need…I don't want to feel anymore. Jus' for a little while. Okay?"

You stand in the line just to hit a new low
You're faking a smile with the coffee to go
You tell me your life's been way off line
You're falling to pieces everytime
And I don't need no carryin' on

Alphonse shook his head, the massive helm creaking slightly on steel shoulders, suddenly glad that he had no face to give his technically non-existent feelings away – while he knew Ed hadn't meant anything by it, wasn't even thinking straight at the moment, the irony was just too bitter. One of them didn't want to feel, and the other couldn't. "Come on, brother. Please, let's go home? You'll feel better after you get some sleep – you know things always look better in the morning."

"Soon. Later. After this one." Ed waved unsteadily at the bartender, who glided over smoothly. "Gimme another…of…of whatever this is."

"You've had quite enough, sir," the man said softly, and Al cringed, waiting for the explosion of temper he just knew was coming from his brother. And indeed, Ed's chin jerked up and his golden eyes glared, his young face set in a too-old expression that had made men twice his age and size cringe in fear. But the bartender simply stood there and met his furious gaze with his own, pellucid grey eyes completely clear and unafraid. And slowly, Ed seemed to still in a way that Al had never seen before.

"You've had a bad day, it would seem." The bartender's voice was calm and emotionless, yet strangely soothing.

Ed finally looked away, letting out a resigned bark of laughter. "Yeah. Bad day. Real bad."

"Mm." The man picked up a glass and began to polish it, sending miniature rainbow chasing themselves around the room and on the pristine white of his sleeves, not quite looking at the brothers. "Things just falling out of line." A statement, not a question.

"Yeah."

A nod. "Had those sorts of days. Everything just falling to pieces, nothing going right, even the littlest things that you normally wouldn't give any thought to. And then one more little thing comes along and the whole mess just teeters and falls over. And you go with it, lashing out until you're spent and you have nothing left to give."

Al stole a peek at his brother, and noticed that Ed was looking a little less peaky than he had just a few minutes ago. Maybe this was what Ed had needed – the understanding of a person who didn't ask any questions, and didn't press for details, and didn't want anything from him and wouldn't carry on and on. He shifted guiltily, but his brother didn't seem to notice as he blew a long breath out, his bangs fluttering and hiding his eyes. "Yeah."

"And then you wish you could go numb, stop feeling, just make everything stop. Take a moment in between the pieces of your life to just breathe."

"Yeah." Ed's voice was barely audible, his shoulders relaxing and his head drooping over the bar.

The man's voice was lower still, still oddly mesmerizing. "Feeling is part of being human. If you push it away, it only gets worse. But if you let it wash over you – through you – it eventually passes. Everything passes. And in that flow, there is peace."

And then there was silence from Ed, made all the more pointed by the muffled sounds of soft conversation around them. Al wasn't certain what to do about that. He thought the bartender's words made sense, but he wasn't sure if his brother would be receptive to them.

The man moved away, and Ed still hadn't looked up from the knot of wood in the grain of the counter that his gaze appeared to be fixed on, his eyes moving slightly as they traced the intricate whirls. Al cleared his throat slightly. "Brother? Are you…okay?"

Cause you had a bad day
You're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around

"Not yet, Al. But I will be," and there was a new certainty in Ed's voice that made Al feel a little more hopeful. "Right now, I feel…I just…" he stopped, struggling for words, frustrated by his inability to articulate the confusion and exhaustion within.

You say you don't know
You tell me don't lie
You work up a smile and you go for a ride

"It's okay to tell me that you don't know, Brother," Al said softly. "I understand. Just because I can't feel things with my body doesn't mean my heart isn't able to."

Ed's profile was granite. And then he closed his eyes, and very slowly, a single tear slipped out and trickled down his cheek. He didn't say anything else, but Al could tell his brother was grateful. And that made him feel…pretty good.

Huh.

Maybe he wouldn't have that talk with Mustang after all. After all, the man had suggested this place, and so it was kind of his doing that Ed was now feeling better. Sort of. Right? And as Ed finally shook his head and made to stand up, Al turned and saw the back of a blue uniform slipping quietly out of the bar. He didn't need to see the dark hair or keen eyes of midnight blue that looked back one more time at the brothers before leaving to know who it was that had been watching them all evening.

"No charge, sir," the bartender was saying when Al returned his attention to the bar. "This is Perdition: the between bar."

Ed started at the very slight emphasis the bartender had given the word. "What does that mean?"

The man inclined his head gracefully, and Al wondered how it was that the man's face could simultaneously seem so utterly unremarkable and yet so familiar. "It is open as a service, sir. People come here to find those moments in between. To find peace for a fleeting moment…to remember what peace is like."

"Anyone can come here?"

"Yes," and there was almost a smile in the otherwise toneless voice. "But only if they really need it."

You had a bad day
You've seen what you like
And how does it feel for one more time
You had a bad day

"And I had a bad day," Ed murmured.

"So it would seem."

The bartender turned away and began polishing glasses again. "I will not say to come back again soon. But come back if you must. I work here most nights. All nights, actually." Again the prismatic colors flickered against his sleeve, making him look as though he were clad in colored diamond silks for an instant.

Ed lifted his chin in that familiar, arrogant tilt, and Al could have wept to see it, because he knew his brother was going to be okay. "I'm going to be fine. But thank you."

"Anytime, sir."

Al decided he should say something too. "That goes for me too. Thank you…" he realized he didn't know the man's name.

A pair of grey eyes flickered over the brothers. "My name is Quinn. Harley Quinn."

"I'm Alphonse Elric. And that's my brother, Edward."

Ed was already headed towards the door. "Come on, Al. Bet the bastard Colonel will have some stupid new mission for us in the morning, and I need some sleep before dealing with that idiot. See ya, Quinn."

Al turned to follow. "Bye, Mr. Quinn!"

"Good night, sirs. Have a good day tomorrow."