Disclaimer: Ummmmm…
Author's Note: Hiya! X3 A few notes before we begin.
One—a couple of people mentioned that they didn't agree with Edward and Alex suddenly having sex; that their relationship seems sort of rushed. And, while I can appreciate where these people are coming from, I'd like to defend myself and my actions with the following points:
—Edward and Alex have known each other for over sixteen years. They're already well aware of each other's talents, vices, opinions, etc. They already know each other, VERY well, which can almost be said to be an advantage over…er, well… "non-incestuous" couples. The kissing, cuddling, and sex is a much smaller step for them.
—They DO do other things besides have sex. As mentioned last chapter, they also like innocent kissing and holding hands and stuff. They even go on out-of-town "dates," where people won't know them, when they can.
— They're teenage boys. Forgive my stereotypical judgment here, but that's just how teenage boys are. Sex is constantly on their minds!
So, yeah. Also, a few people mentioned how, technically, Edward and Alex's relationship is NOT pedophiliac. That may be true; I had always heard that pedophilia constitutes as any couple where one person is 18 or older and the other isn't. I could be wrong… it was really just supposed to be a funny comment. (sweatdrop)
In any case, thanks for all the awesome feedback for last chapter! I apologize for any historical mistakes I may have made (my US history is…er… lacking) and am very happy that people are enjoying, regardless. X3
Please enjoy chapter seven! (Things are starting to get interesting again… heehee.)
XXX
X
X
X
If I could choose one word to describe myself, I think the word I'd pick would be "lazy."
Not the kindest self-analysis, I know. And I suppose, if I wanted to be egotistical, there are a bunch of other words that I could claim suit me: "talented," "laid-back," even "handsome," according to the girls at school. But let's be honest: first and foremost, I'm lazy. Embarrassingly so. Heck, it's my laziness which birthed all of those other wonderful adjectives. Seriously.
Why did I start painting; drawing? Why did I look into acting at all? How did I become so "talented" at both? I was too lazy to try out for competitive sports.
Why am I always so "laid-back"? Why do I rarely get into fights? Why do I generally evade confrontation? Because getting mad takes work and I'd rather avoid it.
Why did I grow my hair out? It sure wasn't because people told me it made me look "handsome." It was because it was easier to whip it in a pony-tail than go to the barber.
Don't even get me started about my choice of clothes. Mom is still trying to talk me into buying a new pair of jeans, or at least fix the broken zipper on the pair I always wear. But no… I like them, they're comfortable, and I'm just too lazy to do anything else with them.
I'm telling you, "sloth" isn't just a deadly sin: it's a way of freakin' life.
At least… it was. Then…
I— I don't know. I guess I'm just a romantic moron at heart, but… when I saw Alex sitting there, looking so scared; when he told me that he didn't want to see me dating other people; whenever he smiles at me, or blushes, or speaks, or just IS…
I love him. So much…
…And I realized, at that moment—with dad barreling down on me, my hands covered in soap suds— that I'd finally found something I wanted to work for:
Us.
X
X
X
XXX
Skeletons
XXX
"Get out."
Benjamin's voice shook, much like his hands, but his face was set—firm and furious. Stark white, eyes glittering wildly, he pointed towards the door…
The words echoed though the otherwise silent kitchen.
Edward bristled, but that was all. He didn't move or speak or even appear frightened…and though his fists did tighten, it was in a resolute sort of way. Alex didn't know how he could stand there so calmly; if he was in his brother's shoes, he'd be terrified. Heck, he was terrified now, and he wasn't on the receiving end of his father's icy glare.
Teri was the first to break the tension, managing to find her voice after a noiseless moment of desperate pleading— sending Edward an imploring glance from over her husband's shoulder, as if soundlessly begging her oldest son to retract his words. Ed, however, didn't even look at her. She whimpered, standing; touching Benjamin's shoulder with her thin, quaking hands. "Ben…"
Her husband shrugged away from her touch. The woman recoiled as if she'd been slapped; Rosie leapt to her feet, fingers clenched into ashen fists. "Daddy," she said quietly—in a strange voice that Alex had never heard her use before. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that that was because she sounded timid— even petrified. Rosalie, nervous? That couldn't be right… "Daddy, please. Calm down and think things through. You don't want to do thi—!"
But rather than help, her words only served to further infuriate the older man. Whirling around in a frenzy of rage, Benjamin snapped his wrathful glare on both of his younger children, his face a fiery red. "Did you know…?"
Rosie dropped back onto her seat, trembling. Alexander grasped her hand underneath the table, surprised to feel how urgently she clung back. Her nails bit into his skin like teeth, reminiscent of the days she'd hold his hand while they wandered around the city, looking for Grandpa's apartment. Strange, really, how he'd think of that now…"Dad, we—"
"DID YOU KNOW?" their father roared, slamming a fist down on the table. The cutlery jumped and rattled; Teri shot her children a pitiful look. She had no idea what to do, either. "Did you know that your brother was— Rosalie, did you influence—!"
"They had nothing to do with it!" Edward cut in firmly, raising his voice for the first time in years. For a brief moment, he allowed his strong mask to fall— casting his brother and sister a desperate glance when they opened their mouths to protest. Both younger teens swallowed, still cowering under Mr. Elric's deadly gaze.
Then they shook their heads, lowering their faces to the floor. "N—no, sir…"
Ed visibly relaxed for half of a second, content in knowing that his siblings, at least, were safe for the moment; then snapped back into his role when Ben spun to face him once again. The two men stood tall, proud, towering, stubborn…
Benjamin lifted a finger, pointing towards the door. "GET OUT."
Edward nodded once.
And out he walked.
X
February, 1930
Dear Al,
They discovered a new planet a few days ago. It was in the paper. I don't know if they've named it yet, but it got me thinking about home.
Pathetic, I know. I should let the memories of Amestris stay where they belong—behind me. And I have no real desire to go back anymore; everything I need is here. Still, a part of me will always long for the world in which we belong, and wonder how things are going over there. Wonder if we'll ever find out.
I know Heiderich thought that our world lay just beyond the sky, but with all of these new planets cropping up—it makes me think that maybe Amestris isn't so much an alternate dimension; just a distant planet. And perhaps the Gate is really some sort of fucked up worm hole.
I don't know… it was just a passing thought. But even if it was true, we'd have no way of getting to it. Nor any way to tell where to look for it.
Either way, I'm not sure if I'd want to go back. Realistically. We couldn't bring Annya with us—look at what happened to Cullison and to Heiderich when their alternate personalities found them. I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to either Annya or Winry— and there's probably no place for us in Amestris, anymore. Things will have changed too much.
We will have changed too much.
One of the problems I've always had with life is that I've never been able to appreciate how wonderful things are until I've succeeded in screwing up. For once, I want to just accept what I have and move on.
…Though when scientists find things like new planets or technologies—when they make announcements that make me think of all the things we used to know— it's kind of hard.
I suspect it always will be.
—Ed
X
The morning air was as cold as it was damp, beautiful autumn sunlight bouncing off the heavy fog as it rolled over the little subdivision, leaving dew-drop kisses on the rubbery green grass. Edward's sneakers squeaked as he walked down the cement driveway, pausing on the edge of the road. Then, with a definitive sort of hum, he tugged his cell phone out of his lab coat pocket and—for the first time in two years—turned it on.
Pressing speed dial number three, he waited; hesitated, then pulled his cigarettes out as well. By the time the person he'd called had answered, he was already on his fourth drag.
"Hey, Lisa?" the blonde greeted cheerfully, expelling a slate-colored ribbon of smoke. It curled innocently around his head, vanishing in the misty air. "Yeah, it's Edward… no, I'm not kidding. No, I'm not a fucking idiot, either; I know it's early Sunday morning. Sorry…. Sorry….Sorry. Ye— yes, I know, Lisa. C'mon, you know I wouldn't call unless it was an emergency, right? Well, it is. …No, really. No, I haven't lost my script. N— no, Lisa, would you liste—? Lisa… My dad just kicked me out of the house, okay? For good. …yeah, that's what I thought, now you feel guilty for yelling at me, don't you?"
He snickered, flicking the tip of his cigarette. A little stream of ashes crumbled off the end, falling to the moisture-darkened ground. "It's all right, sweetie, I know you didn't know… no…. yes, I'll still be going to school. Look, all I need is a place to stay for a day or two; just long enough to find a place of my own. I know that's asking a lot, especially with how big your family is, but— NO, I'm not asking Todd! Stop laughing. This is serious. You know I—"
But Ed silenced himself abruptly, straightening; oblivious to Lisa's crackling questions as they poured from his phone. His ears had picked up a softer sound...
"I don't want you to go."
Edward smiled gently, stamping out his cigarette and holding up a finger. "Li— Lisa, love, breathe. All right. You listening? I'm gonna come over and we can talk, okay? Is that okay? Good. Thanks, hon." The cellular snapped shut with an audible crack.
"I don't want you to go," Alex repeated tearfully, hands bunched at his sides, glaring up at his older brother with as much fierceness as he could muster. Admittedly, it wasn't very much… which possibly explained why Edward simply chuckled, flicking his hair over his shoulder.
"Al, you know I don't have a choice in this," he said calmly, turning on his heel to face his baby brother. "It's not like I want to leave. Do you know how much an apartment is going to cost me? I'd much rathe—"
"Then don't go!" Alex interrupted, nearly groveling, as water began to well in the corners of his eyes—slipping down his cheeks despite his snuffling attempts to stop them. "Don't go… wait a little while, I'm sure Dad will—!"
But Edward only shook his head; shook his head and tenderly grinned. "It's not about Dad," he murmured; unexpectedly— and for a reason the brunette didn't understand— bending down: kneeling in front of his younger sibling. Alex bit his bottom lip, trying his best not to sob, for once staring down into his brother's expressive face. He was shaking… "It's not about Dad or Mom or anyone else, anymore, Alex. It's about me. Me, finally being mature enough to stand up for myself. Me, finally being mature enough to be myself. Me, finally being mature enough to work for something I want."
Ed reached out a hand, pushing a stray strand of Alexander's dark hair behind his ear. He beamed. "It's going to be okay. It may take a little while, but things will work out. All right?"
Alex swallowed harshly, grabbing the hand lingering by his cheek. "Do you promise…?" he asked wetly, wishing he never had to let go.
"If you promise not to worry."
The brunette felt a cynical smile tug on his lips, though his eyes continued to shimmer with tears. "I've told you…" he whispered, slowly loosening his grip on his brother's fingers. "I can't promise that."
"But you did promise to try," Edward said steadfastly, pushing himself back to his feet. "That's all I ask." And Alex, despite himself, managed to give a short, jerky nod.
There was a brief silence; Ed watched his little brother's sniveling attempts to compose himself, looking suddenly lost—torn. "…I wish I could hug you, right now," the blonde admitted quietly, forcing his arms to lie at his sides. Alexander offered an understanding smile.
"That's all right…" he swallowed, voice thick with emotion, though he seemed to be itching for the same thing. "Dad might be watching… I only managed to sneak out of the kitchen 'cause he was so busy yelling…"
"Not at Mom or Rosie, I hope?" Alex shook his head no. "Good. Just in general, then?"
"About how you're not his son anymore, and stuff," the brunette informed, sounding rather guilty for having to play the messenger. But if Edward was hurt by this news, he didn't show it—he just blew out his cheeks and shrugged. Still, Alex felt inclined to add: "I'm sure he doesn't really mean it, Brother."
"Well, it wouldn't matter if he did." The blonde tapped the toes of his shoes against the ground, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I'll be out of here soon enough… oh, don't look at me like that, Al. You'll see me around! I'll be at school and I'll have to come back to get my stuff. And …as soon as I find my own place, you can come visit your 'girlfriend,' yeah?" Ed arched an eyebrow, winking.
Alexander blushed, squeaking; his brother laughed.
"Go on, Al," the blonde encouraged, still chortling softly. "Go back inside, before Dad notices you're talking to me. We don't want him to get any more suspicious, right? Don't worry about me. I'll be just fine."
Of course, this was all easier said than done. Leaving now—watching Edward walk away—it felt like something was ending. And something was ending… but what, Alex wasn't quite sure. Still, he didn't want to let it go. "I want to come with you."
"You know you can't," Edward lightly reprimanded, though his voice was definite. He moved his head again, vaguely, in the direction of the house. "I'll call you as soon as I possibly can, okay? I'll call Rosie's line; that way Dad won't hang up on me. And I'll see you in school. We can have lunch together, like usual. It will be okay."
Alex seemed understandably unsure, twisting his pajama sleeve over and over in his clammy hands. Regardless, he nodded, echoing his brother's words. "It will be okay..."
"That's right," Ed nodded encouragingly, leaning forward and inch or two— hands still jammed in his pockets. "I love you, Alexander," he reminded, though he spoke so quietly that the words were nearly lost to the wind. "Remember that. Now, go back into the house, okay? For me? I don't want you catching a cold."
The brunette flushed, apparently embarrassed. "I'm not gonna get sick from a little damp air," he grumbled, glaring at his feet. But neither were fooled—Alex was hiding his eyes for an entirely different reason. "…I love you, too, Edward," he finally breathed, speaking into his hands as he clutched his face. A little whimper wormed its way out of his throat, shuddering and muffled. "I love you so much that it scares me…"
"…" Edward beamed—though for once, the gesture was somewhat disheartening. "Maybe for good reason."
He turned away.
And as Alex watched him go; nonchalant at first, but gradually curling in upon himself, moving faster; the younger boy felt a piece of himself leave, too. It hurt… ('He's going…he's really going.')…it hurt too much to watch— ('He's not going to be here; he's going togoaway. He's not goingto be…')—to speak— ('Notgoingto beherehe's notgonna—')—to breathe—!
Throat tightening painfully, Alexander spun back towards the house—half running, half limping— coughing as his world started to spin. He felt himself slam the front door shut, rather than hear it: the sound of rushing blood was too loud in his ears; his sight fuzzy from tears. Alex wobbled towards their room—now his room— rubbing feverishly at his eyes… but they were dry. Why wouldn't his vision clear? Why was it…? His mind was racing; too fast; it hurt—!
His body brushed Rosie's; where had she come from? Why were there… two of her…?
"Alex? Alex, what's wrong—?"
Alexander groaned, his stomach lurching as his heart gave a sharp stab. He was going to throw up… "Don't— feel…" he wheezed, his mouth as dry as sand, limbs heavy like stone. "Don't…"
The ground beneath him crumbled…
Rosalie screamed.
X
May, 1930
Dear Al,
On the bright side, we haven't been kicked out of the apartments, yet.
Really, that's all the good news I can think of. The Depression hasn't gotten any better, we're not making nearly enough money, we have no heat, no food, no lights or candles, and one of your cats just died. So of course, you're inconsolable, and Annya is panicking. While I have known you long enough to realize that you just want to be left alone right now, she is desperately trying to cheer you up—her English regressing into short, choppy sentences as her flustered state worsens. I tried to consol her earlier; I tried to get her to leave you alone; but she's nearly as stubborn as we are.
She's pounding on our bedroom door, right now. I'm sitting on the couch, watching her, and you're sulking—yelling randomly through the door that if she doesn't stop right now, you're going to put her in a time out. That may have worked when she was 12 (and only ever for you, she just argues with me), but Annya is now defiantly 15. A frustrated defiant 15-year-old, to boot.
I just hope that I don't have to peal her away from the d—
X
A sigh.
"Mom… you really don't have to sit here. I promise I'm okay— really."
Teri Elric shook her head, moving impulsively back and forth on the rocking chair she'd pulled into her son's bedroom. "I know, honey," she muttered, though her face remained pale and her body tense; nervously folding the laundry in the basket beside her. Her hands flicked as swiftly back and forth as the chair did— fold, fold, crease, press; back, forth, back, forth. "I know. The doctors keep telling us… it's just stress, but… but me sitting here is for my health, not yours." She offered a weary smile, though clearly took comfort in the sight of Alex: sitting up, breathing normally, that strange black book in his lap again. Bunny rested innocently beside his leg, playing the part of Alchemy's toy. Teri gradually began to relax, brushing stray bangs from her eyes. "So don't mind me. You can keep reading if you'd like. Or I can bring you something to drink…?"
"No," Alex murmured, lashes fluttering lazily as he stared down at his grandfather's diary. "No, I'm okay. And I'm sorry that I gave you such a scare, Br— (he reddened, feeling insanely stupid.)—I mean, Mom."
"…" Mrs. Elric's hands fell into her lap. "…I'm sorry, Alex," she whispered, avoiding her child's gaze. "I know that you're used to Edward being here…and this morning… it must have been such a shock— and then he left so quickly. And I… I couldn't even—!"
She cut herself off, taking a deep, shuddering breath. After a feeble moment of trying to collect herself, the woman sighed. "You have to forgive your father, sweetie. He… he has his reasons. I know it seems harsh, but if you understood his side of things—"
Despite his best attempts to keep control, Alexander felt his fists constrict; slamming into his mattress with stifled thuds. The bedspread leapt into the air—as did Alchemy, who scampered out the door with a startled yowl. "HIS side of things?" the boy repeated, lip curling. "What on earth could justify—!" He broke off with a cough— just one; to clear the tickle from the back of his throat. All the same, his mother fell to pieces: toppling forward in a mad scramble for medicine. "MOM! I'm fine, I promise!"
Teri froze, embarrassed; clutching the hand Alex placed on top of her own. "Sorry, Alex…" she apologized for a second time, now kneeling beside him. "I…it's hard for me, to see this happening and— and I'm worried about you. And Edward. And Rosie. And your Dad."
She nodded when her son snorted, looking away. "I know… You have every right to be mad at him, sweetie. I understand why you're questioning what he did. But…well, to be honest, he's scared."
Alexander cast his mother a flat look, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Scared? Of what? Edward being gay? Please!"
Mrs. Elric didn't reply. Instead, she turned her face away, tightening her fingers around her son's.
Alex blinked at her. "…you cannot be serious," he drawled, obviously exasperated. "Why would Edward being gay scare him? I mean, I know he's a homophobe, but—"
"Look," Teri sighed, picking herself back up and settling down on her chair—returning to her rapid rocking and speedy sorting, "I really shouldn't be the one to tell you this… it humiliates your Dad. But… yes. The idea of anyone being in a homosexual relationship frightens your father. You see, your Dad's father was… um, that is…"
Alexander felt his lips pull back in a dry grin. "He was gay."
It was a statement, not a question. His mother seemed momentarily startled by this blunt proclamation—and a little confused as to Alex's knowledge of the subject—but nodded all the same. "Yes… he was. And your Dad knew… he—I think he told me that he'd read it somewhere. In a journal or something… when he was little."
In an instant, the world stopped spinning.
Alexander's eyes widened, stomach twisting into knots. 'Dad… read Grandpa's diary—?' he gaped, feeling his own jaw drop. 'When? Why? But wait… that means— He KNOWS…?'
How Teri had decided to interpret Alex's apparent horror was a mystery in and of itself, but she didn't seem to have translated it correctly. Instead of holding out a hand and insisting to see the journal (which he'd subtly shoved under his quilt), she nodded glumly, working on pairing up socks. "I know… it was quite a shock to him, too. I think it affected him more than he admits—" She paused; she chuckled dejectedly. "Ha, I guess that's an understatement, considering… But, well, whenever he hears about homosexual couples, I think he remembers his father…and that he may never have been born. It's a scary thought, I'm sure. That and… well," Teri sighed, sounding dismayed, "he grew up with his mother—your grandmother, Annya; you never met her, she died right after Edward was born… but she was always so depressed. As a result, Ben… I suppose it'd have been strange if he hadn't been affected."
…Silence.
Alexander's head was spinning—not unpleasantly, for once, but numbly. Cold, raw, numb shock… he was still having trouble processing it. Dad, knowing? Knowing Grandpa's secret? Since he was—what, a child?
Annya. Mom had mentioned Annya—Dad's mom. She was Dad's mom? His Grandma? And she… she was depressed? Why? She seemed so happy in Grandpa's journal…
What happened?
'What happened?'
"What happened…?" Alex heard himself choke, hands trembling on his knees; watching his mother with bright, shock-filled eyes. Glancing up, Mrs. Elric gave a jolt—startled by the intensity of his stare. "What happened? Between Grandpa and Grandma? Between Dad and his parents? What happened…?"
"I… uh," Teri blinked, taken aback. "I don't really know, honey. I think your father had a talk with your Grandpa, but… I can't really say what happened. They seemed on good enough terms, I guess. As for your Grandma and Grandpa, I… they…didn't really talk much, after your father left for college. And then Grandma died of a heart attack before you were born."
"But Dad—Dad knew? He knew that Grandpa was gay?" the brunette reiterated, wanting to make sure he hadn't misunderstood—the concept was still so foreign; so strange! Dad had read the diary… when he was little! That would have hurt—but would it really have been enough to tear a child's whole world to pieces, like Teri seemed to suggest?
Mrs. Elric frowned slightly, beginning to look annoyed. "Yes, Alex. I told you. He's known for many, many years, and the memories are still painful for him. That's why it's important for you to understand why Edward being gay was such a nasty shock."
Alex nodded mechanically, mind still whirling—faster and faster and faster. 'This changes everything… if Dad knew; if he realized that his father was— that Edward Elric was—'
…wait.
"Mom," Alex said—hastily hushed, gazing blankly out the distant window: the sunset pouring through in shades of vivid gold. The sound of his mother gathering up her things resonated oddly in his ears, along with the pounding of his own heart. "If Dad knew Grandpa was gay—if he knew and was so terrified, scarred, and revolted by it…"
Teri glanced up. "Yes…?" she prompted, balancing the laundry basket on her hip. He could tell by her stance that she was about to leave—probably to prepare dinner, where she'd promptly forget this conversation; probably even pretend they'd never had it.
Alexander hesitated, the words stuck in his throat.
He closed his eyes. "Never mind," the brunette decided, sitting stock-still as his mom chirped an overly cheerful "All right," kissed his cheek, and (though tentatively, frequently casting him anxious glances over her shoulder) strolled out the door. Which was fine; he'd rather be alone. But even though she'd gone, Alex couldn't get her words out of his mind—or tear the question off of his lips.
Why?
If Benjamin Elric knew that Edward Elric Senior, his father, was gay—had known it from an early age; had suffered terrible psychological side-effects because of it…
Why had he named his eldest son after him?
X
May, 1930
Dear Al,
All right, that was just…
I guess "weird" isn't the right word for it. "Amazing" doesn't quite fit, either. But it was certainly memorable. I mean, you even opened your bedroom door; you forgot that you were pouting! That doesn't happen ever day…
Neither does my dropping a pen, ruining the rest of a journal page with ink stains as I boggle wordlessly.
"What…was that?" you asked Annya—rather breathlessly, actually, gaping at her though the open doorway. She blushed, fiddling with her apron and casting me an embarrassed glance. Then she adverted her eyes again, playing with a strand of her curly hair, announcing that it was the refrain to a song she was working on—a present for us. It wasn't finished yet, but it seemed like a good time to test it, per say.
"But it's in Russian," I pointed out, though still thoroughly impressed. It was… haunting, her melody. Like a tune that I'd heard before, so many times, but had forgotten. "We don't speak Russian."
She smiled and replied: "But I do. I will write it down for you; I will translate it for you. I will put it in your little book, too, if you like."
Of course, that caught your attention, Al, and you noticed me writing in here. I guess I'll have to explain myself, later. Shit.
But… I don't really care. Rather, that's not what disturbs me. What does is… Annya's voice, actually. Don't get me wrong, it's beautiful—but it's so mature. More mature than it was when we'd first met her. I'd forgotten how old she actually is; I hadn't realized how developed she'd become in the few short years since we'd met: how attached to us—to you—she's become. I see her coloring when you glance her way.
This could be a problem.
—Ed
X
"What do you mean, you FAINTED?"
Alexander sighed, growing increasingly tired of being chewed out. "Brother," he whispered into the faux fur-covered phone, "please. I told you, I'm fine. It was just a panic attack…"
But Edward wouldn't hear of it. Immediately, he launched into a furious rant. "Al, why didn't you call me? I was only half way down the street! I woul—"
The brunette rolled his eyes, shooting Rosie an apologetic smile, holding the receiver a few inches from his ear. Ed's voice poured from it, loud and clear; she huffed, jiggling her foot impatiently beside Alex's bed, swiveling around in her computer chair. It was her telephone he was using, her phone line he was tying up. As long as Edward continued blabbering, she wouldn't be able to do anything on the internet… she probably had four dozen messages waiting to occupy her, all along the lines of 'you wanna get together?' And she would never know. A fact that clearly irked her.
Her brow scrunched in a warning glare.
"—r another thing, if you had listened and gotten out of the cold—!"
"Ed," Alex attempted once more, trying his best to talk over his brother without speaking too loudly. Who knew where Benjamin was? "Forget about it, okay? I'm fine. Tell me about you. What's going on?"
"But—" Edward made a frustrated noise; in his mind's eye, Alexander could see him pulling a hand through his hair. It made his heart give a little lurch… "…Oh, all right. Let's see. I'm staying with Lisa tonight, but that's all her parents will allow, gay or not. After that, I'm being tossed over to Todd— stop laughing, right now!— and am staying with him until I get my finances straight. I had to dip into my college money, but there's a little flat on the edge of town that's relatively cheap. Not anything fancy, but it's a place to stay."
"How much is it?"
"Six hundred and fifty a month."
Alex frowned dubiously, pressing the phone closer to his ear. The magenta fur tickled his nose… "That seems like a lot."
His brother laughed; there was a squeaking flop, suggesting that he'd just lain back on an old, springy mattress. The smile was evident in his voice. "It could be worse. I have plenty of cash saved up in my bank account, and that college money I was talking about. It'll be enough to get me the apartment and some food… At least until I can get some kind of job. And my art teacher has been trying to talk me into selling some pieces for a while; maybe I'll take her up on that."
"What about school?"
"I told you," Edward soothed, smothering a yawn. "I'll still be there. I have to graduate from high school. I'll just take a year or two off before college in order to replenish the cash that I'm stealing from my account, right now."
"You really have this all planned out, don't you?" Alexander praised, unable to keep a small grin off of his face. Rosalie noticed this and snorted, grumbling something about looking like a school girl. Alex glared, flushed; forcing himself to stop twirling his hair around a finger. "Are you sure that you don't need any help? I have some money…"
Ed cut his lover off by blowing a loud, wet raspberry. In the background, Lisa yelled something about not wanting to catch his gayness, so cut it out. Even Alex laughed. "It's fine, Al; I don't need your money. I have to do this myself, you know? Besides, you'll have your own expenses to worry about, soon enough."
"I'm only a junior," Alex protested. "I won't have to worry about college for a while."
"It's coming up faster than you think."
"Yeah… mayb—"
"Look, if you guys aren't gonna talk about anything important," Rosie interrupted, irritated; drumming her long nails incessantly against the arms of her chair, "then would you please call it a freakin' night? You've been on for over an hour!"
Which wasn't nearly enough time, in Alexander's book—though he wasn't sure what would be enough time. Heck, he wasn't sure if there'd ever be enough time… Not when he was used to his brother being right there. He sighed. "Rosie says I have to hang up now, Edw—"
Edward.
The brunette straightened, the unintentional reminder causing electricity to shoot through his veins like lightening. 'I should tell him—' "Brother," he said, talking quickly now; quite aware of his sister's rising urge to kill. "I forgot to mention: I had a talk with Mom today. About Dad. There's something strange about your name—"
"My name?"
"Alex!" Rosalie snarled, gritting her teeth furiously. Alexander privately feared she was going to claw a hole through her seat's armrests. "Tell him LATER."
The boy pouted, indignant. "But Rosie—!"
"It's okay," Ed interrupted, clearly aware of what was going on. "You can tell me later. I should probably get going, anyway—I promised Lisa I'd do the dishes for her. Equivalent exchange, and all that." From somewhere close to his elder sibling, Alex could hear Lisa mutter: "Damn straight."
"…all right," Alexander reluctantly agreed, deflating a bit. "I'll talk to you later, right?"
"Of course you will," Edward insisted soothingly. "I'll call again tomorrow, if you'd like. Okay? I love you both."
"We love you, too," Alex returned quietly. Rosie's face softened; she nodded towards the phone, as if her eldest brother could see her. "Bye, then."
The phone disconnected with a soft 'click.'
"…you all right?" Rosalie asked sheepishly, apparently feeling guilty for her previous anger. The brunette shrugged, unhurriedly lowering the tacky receiver; placing it back in its equally tacky cradle. "You're not gonna get sick again, or anything?"
Alexander glowered. "No, I'm not," he snapped, cheeks coloring with mortified frustration. "Nor am I going to break like a doll!"
"Well, sorry," Rosie groused, pulling her knees to her chin. "We're just worried about you, is all. No need to bite our heads off. But you know, maybe if you stopped fainting…"
She trailed off, waiting for a response… but it never came. A beat; a sniffle. Curious, she shot Alex a sideways glance, spinning her chair in the direction of the door. Then, with a bite of her bottom lip, the girl spoke again. "You know," she mumbled, playing with her toes, "it's not that Edward isn't afraid. He's just trying to act strong for us, like he always has."
He nodded, shaky, but didn't pull away when Rosalie dropped a hand on his shoulder. A good sign.
"…I'm scared, too," Rosie admitted with an empty laugh, staring purposefully in the opposite direction. "It's okay to be scared—it doesn't make you weak. You just can't let that fear cloud your judgment. If Edward says he's gonna be okay, we've got to trust him. He's stubborn, but he's not stupid. If he needs our help, he'll let us know."
Alex let out a snuffled grunt of agreement. "I know…but…"
"Everything happens for a reason," Rosalie stated confidently, speaking before her brother could begin another guilt trip. "Even if it doesn't seem like it at first. Who knows? Maybe this is really a blessing in disguise."
The boy arched an eyebrow, casting his sister a flat stare. "How?"
For lack of anything better to say, Rosie simply smiled and shrugged. "We'll see, won't we?"
X
March, 1931
Dear Al,
We've started to discuss leaving New York.
Not seriously, I suppose, but the topic has arisen in conversation. We have nothing here—no jobs, no money, and… well, I suppose we have a home, but it's falling apart. Literally. True, it's better than some have it, but perhaps in the west we could do better. I admit, I'm afraid to try and "do better," but this isn't the Gate—this is America. And all we'd be doing was walking. (We can't even afford a damn carriage anymore, let alone a car or train ride. Yes, you were right again, Al, I should have counted my blessings when I had them.)
Of course, there are some hitches in this plan. One, the actual traveling. In Amestris it wasn't so bad, you being a giant suit of armor and me being savvy enough of an alchemist to transmute bread from grass when desperate. But what can we do here? We can't carry enough food to last for more than a few days, and we can't expect to run into towns whenever we'd need them. In the end, any attempt to travel without supplies, some mode of transportation, or at least a solid plan would be suicidal.
And then there's Annya, who'd be coming with us. Because of this, any trip we'd take would need to last less than a month. Otherwise…well…
Let's just say that I'm glad that I'm not a girl, but I wish that we knew someone around here who was. A year or so ago Annya started to go through… changes… that I know I shouldn't be embarrassed to talk about, being a scientist and all, but I am. Though in my defense, reading about menstruation as a topic in biology and dealing with a hormone-infused Annya are two entirely different things. I have no idea how to help her; you have no idea what to do. In the end, all we ever do is cower in the corner and hope that she'll calm down.
Thankfully, she can read English books now, and we've finally found a few at the library dealing with human anatomy and left her to it. We also managed to talk a female co-worker of yours, Al, into chatting with Annya, about… things that make my skin crawl to think about.
Needless to say, life has been interesting lately. I wonder if things will ever calm down?
—Ed
X
As it turned out, they did see. And to Alex's great surprise, Rosalie seemed to know what she was talking about.
Or, at least, she was a very good guesser.
"Oh, hello, sweetie, welcome back. How was your day at school?" Mrs. Elric greeted distractedly the following Friday, slicing carrots with alarming precision. Alexander watched her progress for a moment— abnormally transfixed with the swift movement of the knife— then shrugged; picking up the small bundle of mail on the table and flipping through it. Bill, bill, magazine for Rosie, bill, advertisement…
"Same old, same old," the boy replied monotonously, shifting his backpack on his shoulder. "My English teacher is a close-minded jerk and my chemistry teacher insists that he's the next Newton…" Alex trailed off with a hum of interest, lifting a plain, manila envelope out of the pile. It had no address or stamp—it must have been hand delivered.
There were paint splotches on the corner…
The brunette's choked on a gasp, face lighting up. 'Ed…' He hadn't seen his brother for days—he'd taken the past three off school. But he'd promised to be in contact… This must be it.
Excitement increasing exponentially, Alex slipped the packet into his uniform pocket, causally dropping the rest of the mail on the counter. His mother glanced up with a small smile.
"Anything good in there? Haven't had a chance to go through it, yet…"
"Nothing much, just the usual," Alexander returned in as flippant a manner as possible, but he was sure that his mom could hear his heart beat from across the kitchen. He tried to inch subtly towards the door, tightening his grip on his knapsack straps. "Anyhow, I best start my homework… I—uh— have a date with my girlfriend tonight."
Mrs. Elric's face lit up. "Your girlfriend—? Alex, that's wonderful!" she cheered, clapping her hands delightedly. Al simply flushed, looking away with a frown.
"Mom, please. Don't make a big deal about it," her son grumbled, edging out of the room. Before he could escape, Mrs. Elric opened her mouth— but Alex cut her off, hollering from the hall. "And no, I'm not bringing her in to meet the family. I'm meeting her at her place; sorry!"
Teri pouted, but Alexander wouldn't have cared even if he'd still been in the room to see it. Skittering down the hallway with enough force to bowl over a rhino, the brunette swung eagerly into his bedroom: throwing his bag aside, slamming the door shut, and scampering to the top bunk— where he'd begun sleeping the night Edward left. Then, with a growing grin and trembling hands, he retrieved the envelope and slit it open.
Two things fell out. First, a note.
Really, that was all it was—a note. Scribbled hastily on a little corner of sketchbook paper with a stray colored pencil. Aquamarine, it looked like.
Al, it read; and the familiar handwriting was almost enough to make Alex giddy, sorry I haven't been at school; things have been crazy. Don't worry, I haven't been by myself—Lisa—and, all right, Todd, too— have been around. They've both helped a lot. But I'll tell you more about it, later. Why don't you come and visit me? You're welcome anytime. Love, Edward.
Alexander smiled, fingering the second item while he read— a small brass key. On its end, a keychain had been securely attached: silver, with an address scribbled in black sharpie marker. "East Central Apartments, number 361," the brunette read aloud, careful to keep his voice down. Wrinkling his nose, the teen mentally calculated the building's location—he'd heard of it before, of course; it was supposed to be a real dump. Not that it mattered to him… he wasn't going to enjoy the architectural design. "It should only be a half an hour walk from here," Alex mumbled with certainty, rolling onto his stomach and beaming at the tiny tokens—poking and toying idly as he whistled a nameless tune. When should he go? He didn't want to look too suspicious, suddenly running off… though his mother wouldn't care if he went to see Edward, his father certainly would. But perhaps—now that he'd fed Mom that lie—Dad would believe he was off to see a girl, too?
Alexander abruptly frowned, catching on to a bit of somewhat-unrelated irony. 'Hey… If he's the girl, how come I'm always on the bottom?' he mused with a growing blush, twirling a lock of hair around his finger. Oh well, not that it mattered… though he supposed he could have a talk with Ed about that.
Speaking of…
The brunette sat up, pulling his grandfather's diary out from underneath Edward's pillow. Tapping it with a lazy finger, he traced the intricate design on the front, allowing his thoughts to drift.
He had to talk to Edward about Dad—and about all of the things he was learning about Grandpa. This was becoming too… involving to read by himself. With each new discovery that brought him closer to knowing the deceased Edward Elric, the more Alex realized how the events of his life shaped their lives, today. There had to be a reason for that…
But he could worry about it later, after he'd talked it over with Edward. As for now, he had a lot of getting ready to do: he had a date to prepare for. Not the kind of date he'd told his mother about, true enough, but a date all the same…
And for once, he wasn't going to have to worry about their parents interrupting it.
In the back of his mind, Alex couldn't help but wonder if this arrangement might be a blessing in disguise, after all.
X
September, 1931
Dear Al,
Ever since reading those books on anatomy, Annya has been looking at us oddly. You've noticed it, too, and tried to ask her about it; she just blushes and skitters away, singing to herself. I don't know why she's so jittery, or even what she's thinking about. She avoids our bedroom, though…
What's wrong with her? Is she just being a teenager? I wouldn't know; sex has always been a natural part of life, in my mind. (Though that doesn't mean I'm going to sit down and talk with her about it.) But there's definitely something clouding her thoughts.
You don't think she's figured something out, do you? About us…
I mean, none of those books talked about what we do alone (I made sure of it), and I can't think of anyone who'd mention it to her, so that seems incredibly unlikely.
Still, the thought makes me nervous.
—Ed
X
"Humble abode" didn't even begin to describe Edward's apartment.
Alexander had been properly horrified to find that his brother's new home was not only on the outskirts of the city—where even the smallest of small towns have a good crop of dangerous folk— but that it was nearly crumbling before his eyes. Made of red bricks that creaked and groaned unpleasantly whenever the wind blew, the sides were covered in thick vines and graffiti: more support than the actual foundation provided, probably. And the security was nothing to brag about, either: the door wasn't even locked. Anyone could waltz on in… unless they were spotted by a tenant with a window and good aim.
But no matter how pathetic the outside was, the inside was by far worse. Ed's room was, of course, on the top floor—the third—at the very end of the dimly lit hallway. Every floorboard squealed in protest when you walked; the moldy green carpet strangely spongy beneath your feet. Alex had visions of falling through to lowering floors as he climbed the many steps. There was no elevator, though Alexander wouldn't have chanced it if there had been: you probably would have had to pull yourself up.
Then there was the flat itself. Alexander had knocked, rather than just use his key, in case his brother had been doing anything important. He wasn't, naturally—he'd probably just been waiting by the door, in case Alex decided to show up—and opened instantly, grinning widely.
The brunette was greeted by the ever-romantic question: "Is there food in that bag?"
There was, luckily— three cartons of Chinese which Alex had bought on his way over, in addition to any random canned or boxed good he could sneak out of the kitchen without arousing suspicion. Though he supposed he could always just say that it was for a school food drive, he was trying to save that excuse for when he got caught taking food, not before. As Edward nosed hungrily through the sack (Alexander wondered if Lisa and Todd had been starving him for kicks), the younger boy peered nosily around the apartment, feeling his disapproval grow.
It was small. That was the first thing he noticed; it was very small, and divided into three rooms. The first was the largest, and the one a person walked into when entering. It was essentially a large square with hardwood flooring; a little half-wall raised to block off a small corner with a sink, an oven, and a mini refrigerator. That must count as a kitchen. The rest was probably supposed to be a living room, but Edward had transformed it into a make-shift studio. Boxes of paints, bottles of brushes, vats of colored pencils, stacks of canvases, and a few random easels cluttered the floor proudly, set upon hastily lain sheets. There were already puddles of wet paint staining the crisp whiteness, illuminated by the streetlights shining through the sliding glass door, which led to a balcony so small and rusty Alex wouldn't have trusted putting a house plant on it.
The second room was a bathroom—nearly as cramped as a closet, though somehow it managed to fit a toilet, sink, and shower. There was nothing else significant about the room, except that Ed needed to get himself a shower curtain.
Finally, there was—what Alex could only assume to be—the bedroom. It certainly wasn't anything special: a dirty window, a mattress, a quilt, and a picture. That was all. Most of the room was just empty space... kind of lonely, really. Out of place. The brunette pensively nibbled the inside of his cheek; noticed the picture with an arched eyebrow, padded carefully though the gloom (the lights were only muted glows), and lifted the frame from its place beside the mattress.
It was of them… him, and Edward, and Rosie, playing at the park. Alex smiled faintly, touching the cool glass with the tip of his finger, outlining their faces. When had they taken this, anyway? It couldn't have been that long ago… just a few weeks?
Did it really matter?
"Al…?"
Alexander gave a small jolt, glancing towards the door. Edward stood there, blinking curiously, holding up a fork and a spoon. "Which one do you want?" he asked, waving the two utensils back and forth. "I've only got one of each, sorry. Unless you were smart and stole some chopsticks?"
"When am I ever not smart?" Alex smirked, setting the photo back beside the bed. If Ed cared that he'd been snooping, he didn't say anything. Rather, he laughed and gestured for his brother to follow.
"All right then, that problem's solved. Let's eat!"
X
January, 1932
Dear Al,
Things are starting to look up again. We still don't have any steady work—nobody seems to—but we do have enough odd jobs to get by. In our free time, we've managed to catch up on some of the more complicated sciences of this world, and are starting to form theories of our own. It's fun; like when we were younger.
Annya is beginning to calm down, too. After months of running into other rooms whenever we came near, she's begun to speak with us again—albeit rather shyly. You finally managed to talk her into telling us the matter was: apparently, she'd been embarrassed by some of the more graphic diagrams in the books, and horrified by the sex talk your co-worker had given her. She seemed under the impression that we were secretly longing to jump her bones and rape her, or something… but she'd finally leant to kick the stupidity out of herself. It's nice to be able to talk to her again—though I've noticed that her blushes have only intensified around boys. Secretly, I think she does it on purpose: I went to the market with her and got a discount because she smiled at the grocer. It didn't help that he was around her age and not bad looking.
Yes, she's a teenager. And people are beginning to notice.
I'd better keep an eye on all the young men in town.
—Ed
X
Edward dug some pillows out of one of the four boxes he'd stacked beside the door, kicking them so that they lined up against the half-wall separating the living room from the kitchen. It made an effective do-it-yourself couch, and the two lounged languidly on it, eating Chinese directly from the cartons for lack of any sort of dishware. They talked idly about the kids at school—how Edward would be even more popular, now that he had his own place (not that they were planning on mentioning it; it might raise questions)— and played immature games with their chopsticks: trying to steal bits of vegetable and meat from the other's box. All in all, Alex was having the best time he'd had in ages, and would have completely forgotten the other, more pressing matters he'd wanted to discuss with his brother if it hadn't been for Ed's casual inquisition of: "So why'd you bring Grandpa's diary with you?"
The blonde jabbed at the little black book with his utensils; Alex glanced over at its resting place in the plastic bag with a small noise of surprise. "Huh…? Oh yeah," Alexander grinned sardonically, jabbing some broccoli at the bottom of his carton. Edward nabbed it with a chuckle of triumph, only slightly deterred when his brother retaliated by stealing a slice of beef. "That was to remind me of what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Mmm?" Ed chewed his pinched prize with an arched eyebrow, swallowing. "What about?"
Alex didn't reply for a moment or two, instead poking at the shared box of white rice. "…I talked to mom a few days ago," he finally confessed; slowly, struggling to figure out how he wanted to word this. "And she told me something… kind of disturbing, really."
Edward waited patiently for his younger sibling to continue, though his eyes glittered with inquisitiveness.
"It…uh, it turns out," Alexander coughed, coloring a bit—though he really wasn't sure why— "that Dad has read Grandpa's diary, too. When he was younger."
The older boy's chopsticks fell to the ground with a clatter. Alex glanced up at him with a small smile, not surprised to see the expression of pure shock on his lover's face. "Woah—wait," Edward choked, holding up a hand. "Dad? Our homophobic Dad? He read Grandpa Elric's journal—the one who was hot for his brother— and Dad didn't disown him?" Ed paused, as if wondering how that would work, but in the end just shook his head. "That makes no sense. Dad loved Grandpa; we never would have known of his existence if Dad really knew he was gay, let alone into incest."
"That's what I thought," Alex nodded profusely, driving holes into a soggy carrot. "Though what struck me as the weirdest is that he'd name you after Grandpa. If he really knew, that is. But…" The brunette hesitated, pushing himself off of his stomach and sitting up straight. "But if he did know, that would explain a lot, wouldn't it? Why he's so afraid of gays and all, I mean. He's practically terrified—he won't even talk about you at home, anymore. I've seen homophobes before, but he really is the worst… Mom says that's why."
Ed considered this with a tilt of his head, propping an elbow up on one raised knee as he gazed off into the distance. "…I dunno," he eventually replied, sounding unconvinced. "That makes sense, but there could be a lot of other reasons for his actions. Heck, I've met homophobes who are just as bad as Dad for no reason at all. And let's be honest—Mom isn't exactly known for her…er…brain skills, shall we say." He lifted an eyebrow at Alexander when he glared. "C'mon Al, you know it's true. I love her to pieces, but she's a bit of an air head."
"...all right, yeah," Alex conceded after a minute or two, allowing a tiny grin to shape his face. "I just thought… you know, it might be true. And if it was, it would certainly answer some unasked questions."
"Well, it may still be true," Edward retorted with a shrug. "I just don't think you've got the whole story… or, at least, there are pieces missing. But what does it matter, anyway? It wouldn't change anything."
"No, it wouldn't," the brunette agreed, tossing aside his crumpled carton and slapping invisible dust from his hands. "But it's one of those things that I just wanna know." He paused; turned towards his brother with a look of mock irritation. "Speaking of things I 'just wanna know'…" he continued in a whole different tone of voice—a change that wasn't lost on Edward. The blonde glanced up with a blink of surprise, smiling when Alex crawled over and draped himself over his brother's side. "If you're my girlfriend, how come I'm always on the bottom? Can't I be on top?"
Ed smirked, ruffling Alexander's hair with an impish little snicker. "You? No way! You're way too small."
An auburn eyebrow gave a dangerous tic.
"SMALL?"
Alex glowered, elbowing his elder sibling's side purposefully. Edward laughed, grabbing the brunette's wrists and pulling him down into a hug. "I am NOT small—!" the younger boy groused all the while, though it was only half-hearted. "You're just way too tall… 's not my fault you're a freaking giant…" Regardless, he cuddled into his sibling's chest, sighing happily into the well-known warmth.
They sat like that for a while, holding one another: Ed hugging his brother as if he were some sort of teddy bear; Alex clinging urgently, pulling all the closer, as if Edward might float away. His long fingers clutched desperate handfuls of the loose white muscle shirt his brother wore—it clearly wasn't Edward's, since it wasn't smeared with art supplies, but he had been wearing it long enough for it to pick up his scent… eraser crumbs and soap and cigarettes and some spicy, unnamed cologne. It hadn't even been a full week, but Alex had missed that smell so much he nearly started to cry. But he caught himself in time; choosing instead to leer and breathe:
"…I still think I should have a chance to be on top."
Edward's chuckles rumbled through his body like an oncoming train. Alex blushed, loving the feel of it beneath his cheek... "Is that so?" his brother purred, kissing the tip of his ear; grinning when his sibling squeaked. "Well then… how about this? When you can wrestle the position from me, I'll let you have a go."
Alexander scowled, pulling back just enough to weakly glare at his lover. "Not fair; you always win at wrestling!" A fact of which Ed was obviously aware.
The blonde gave a sunny smile, as if only just remembering this. "Oh yeah… well then, you'd better start practicing. Or else you'll have to wait until I'm old and decrepit. Or dead. You know, which ever comes first."
A beat.
"…That's sick," Alex stated flatly, sticking out his tongue as he wrapped his arms around Edward's neck. "Sex when we're old and decrepit? Ew." He grinned toothily, his knees spreading to straddle his brother's waist. "I guess that means I'll just have to try harder to beat you."
Ed smirked, hands sliding to cup Alexander's hips; fingers ghosting beneath the hem of his jeans. "I take it you want to start practicing now?"
Alex thought that the best verbal response to that incredibly stupid question would be the phrase "uh, duh," but in the end opted to forgo words all together: kissing Edward deeply.
And though in the end he lost the match, Alexander had a very good time playing the game.
X
April, 1932
Dear Al,
Annya asked why neither of us have girlfriends.
On the one hand, it was amusing to see you choke on potatoes—as she asked during dinner, of course—; on the other, it was horrifying… as we had no idea what to say.
I guess it was an inevitable question, what with all of the things she'd been learning, lately; natural for her to wonder why she never sees us with girls, when guys are supposed to want to touch up every inch of them. But we still hadn't bothered to plan far enough ahead to counter such an innocent inquisition. We'd never even thought of it.
I think it was you who came up with an answer first—something along the lines of "we haven't met anyone we really like, yet." Annya looked doubtful, mentioning all of the girls we happen to know and saying how it was impossible to not like any of them. I was the one who explained that there are different kinds of love, and that we didn't love any of them in That Way. She considered this. Then she asked: "How do you love me?"
We assured her that we loved her very much, in 'best friend' and 'fatherly' sort of ways. She nodded, chewed, and tapped the prongs of her fork against her frown. "…How do you love each other?"
Both of us paled, but you, at least, managed to keep on a smile. I believe your exact response was: "Well, Annya, it's complicated…we're brothers, so I guess the only way to describe it is a 'brotherly' love."
Annya nodded, though continued to look preoccupied. Still, I thought the conversation was over, and we carried on as if nothing had happened. But later that night, Al, once you'd gone to sleep, and I was reading on the couch, she came and stood in front of me—all scowls and curls and white cotton nightgown.
My heart stopped when she spoke.
"I do not believe you."
Of course I told her I had no idea what she was talking about, but I did. Not that it mattered, because she pressed on, anyway.
"I know what the noises are, now. In your bedroom, late at night. I spoke to Alphonse's coworker, Gretchen, about the strange noises I sometimes hear… she told me that you must be sneaking women into the house. I asked her why, and she told me. But I know that you are not sneaking women in. I would have seen them. Only you and Alphonse are in there. And the noises are both… So you must be…"
She colored, glaring furiously through her tears. I simply gawked, trying to summon up enough mock disbelief to discourage her. But I couldn't. I couldn't even blink. "It is wrong, Edward," she told me bluntly, hands trembling as she gripped her nightdress. "It is wrong to… brothers do not… it is not fair! Alphonse has to love you in a brotherly way, you have to love Alphonse in a brotherly way; it is not fair that either of you should love in another way, too! It is not right… it is not fair…"
Annya looked at me as if I were scum. And for a moment, I felt like I was. But did she honestly think I hadn't considered all of this before? I sighed and sat her down in my lap, hugging her like I used to when she'd had a nightmare. She didn't seem to appreciate the embrace, at first— struggled and wriggled and pushed against me—but soon she was crying and hugging me closer, even though she kept sobbing accusations of revulsion and fear: "I hate you… I hate him… it is not right… I hate you!"
I don't really blame her.
—Ed
X
The back door creaked softly open.
And thought Rosalie certainly wasn't surprised, Alexander was—nearly jumping a mile when he saw his little sister sitting at the table, watching his quiet attempts to sneak in with dull eyes. "Crud—!" he hissed, clutching his shirt where his heart would be, spinning away with a deep breath. "Geez, Rosie!" Alex yelped in a whisper, attempting to regain his composure. "Trying to give me a heart attack?"
"No," Rosalie drawled, still not moving an inch—though her smirk was unfurling at an alarming rate. "But if you'd come home on time…"
"I was home on time," the boy griped quietly, catching immediately on to the irony of the situation. "I was on the front porch with Edward. He walked me back. You can ask him."
The blonde cast her brother a dry look. "…on the front porch. Since eleven?"
Alex blushed brightly, lacing and unlacing his fingers; avoiding Rosie's eyes. "We…um… did a lot of talking."
"I'm sure."
"Hey, we did," he interjected—though still glowing a bright shade of magenta. With a small smile, he pulled up a chair and straddled it, resting his arms on the back. "Communication is key in a relationship, you know…"
"But you also spent a little time making out," Rosie finished, flipping her braid over her shoulder as she tilted back in her seat, clearly amused. Taking a measured sip from the mug of hot chocolate in her hands, the teen girl propped her feet up on the table. "You know," she then said conversationally, in a voice which was deceptively innocent, "Daddy dearest would blow a freakin' gasket if he knew where you've been sneaking off to for—hell, this is the ninth night, isn't it?"
"Thirteenth."
She quirked an eyebrow.
"Not in a row," Alex protested feebly, as if in some attempt to salvage dignity. He didn't even bother asking how Rosalie knew of his exploits. Heck, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "But—you're not going to tell him, are you?"
A stab of sheer panic tore at his insides, face draining of any color at all. The mere thought—it made him want to throw up, or shrivel up, or vanish.
Rosie snorted. "Please," she snapped, as if he had offended her. "Because I'm such a goody-two shoes. Really, Alex, show a little faith in me, won't you?"
Alexander flushed a second time, muttering an apology. "Sorry, I'm just… a little on edge, I guess," he admitted, yanking a stray lock of his hair. He noticed with dismay that a clump of it had been dragged through a pool of blue paint at some point, hardening without his notice. 'Great, I'll need to take another 2 AM shower…' Mom was going to be thrilled. "I'm not used to sneaking around…"
"Oh, don't worry," Rosalie chirped, blowing on her steaming drink with a chipper beam. "You get used to it really fast!"
"…that's not very comforting, Rosie," Alex drawled, but couldn't keep a tiny grin off of his face. In afterthought, however, he frowned: piercing his little sister with a strange look. "What're you still doing up, anyway?"
"Huh? Oh…" Rosalie smiled brightly, but he thought it looked a little fake. "Some friends from the anime and manga club and I went out. We got back kinda late, and I figured you'd be waiting up to yell at me, but when you weren't here… well, I thought I'd have some fun."
Alexander's brow furrowed, giving his sister a measured once-over. "…didn't you have a date with Amy tonight?" he asked cautiously, not wanting to let her know that he'd been peaking at her planner; trying to sneak off when she wasn't around… so as to avoid circumstances like this, as luck would have it. But Rosie merely shrugged, smile not slipping an inch.
"Yeah, she was there, too," the girl assured, tracing the rim of her cup with a recently painted fingernail. This week they were violet with black sparkles.
The brunette shot her an inquisitive glance, but Rosalie didn't expand. Instead, she sat her drink down on an oversized saucer and yawned. "Anyway, I'm beat," she announced, standing with a jangle of bracelets and china. "I'm gonna go to bed… I just wanted to see your face when I caught you sneaking in, you naughty boy."
With a wink and a giggle she vanished into the darkness, gliding down the hardwood hallways as if she were an ice skater. Alex watched her go with a small frown, sure something was wrong… but in the end shook it off, knowing it would be pointless to try and squeeze anything out of Rosie. She was probably just mad at someone for "stealing her style" again, or something.
Knowing Rosalie would get into trouble for leaving a mess in the kitchen, Alex stood and cleared her dishes, wiping off the counter as he let his mind wander in reverse, mulling cheerfully over the past few hours he'd spent with Edward. It was becoming something of a tradition: he'd sneak over (telling his parents he was off to see his girlfriend), they'd talk and goof off, discuss their friends and family, eat whatever food Alexander felt like bringing, and then Alex—if he felt like it, anyway—would "attempt to establish his authority." He had yet to win, but it was sure fun trying.
Alexander grinned, hiding his pink face with his hair. He rarely bothered with a pony tail anymore… at least when he was going to Ed's flat. He'd just lose the hair tie.
Chuckling to himself, the teen boy tossed the washcloth he'd fished out of a side drawer into the sink, letting it dry. Then, stretching merrily, he made his way to his bedroom; pondering possible activities that could help him unwind. After all, he was much too awake to even think about sleep, let alone try to achieve such a state. 'Maybe I'll read some of Grandpa's diary,' he thought happily, hopping up onto the top bunk and kicking off his shoes. It'd been a while since he'd last opened it, being so busy with… other things.
With a cheerful hum, Alex rolled onto his stomach; propping his chin in his palms as he reached under Edward's old pillow, pulling out the journal and flipping it open.
X
June, 1932
I'm not sure how it happened.
Like every disaster in our lives, I'm certain there were multiple steps to bring us here—steps that I could trace back to a single factor; a reason or motive. But I don't know if I even want to bother trying to figure it out, now…what good would it do me?
What good would it do any of us?
I don't think Annya understands. She believes she does, but…how can we truly explain our bond to her? Explain our history? Explain our love? Especially after she's poured her heart and soul into…
She told you that she loves you, Al.
I don't know when or how the conversation started; I'd been at work. I could hear the two of you arguing from the lobby four stories down, though. Annya screaming, you frantically countering: begging, even. It didn't bother me, at first—I couldn't really understand what the discussion was about. I assumed it was over what Annya was making for dinner. (She has the tendency to experiment.) But when I opened the door…
"Why can you not love me back?" Annya was sobbing, pulling on your sleeve. She's petite; admittedly smaller than I am— she only comes up to your forearm, even at 17. You were trying to gently pry her away as she cried, clasping her shoulders in a brotherly way; explaining yourself for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. Your response was something along the lines of "I love you, Annya, but not the way you want me to. It's not fair of me to—"
"Do not tell me what is and is not fair!" she bawled, glowering angrily through tears and rubbed-raw eyes. "What is not fair is that Edward should have you, when you are already his brother! That is not fair! Nor is it right! Alphonse— I love you. I want to be your wife…!"
You shot her a pained look, backing away and waving your hands in protest. But you didn't watch where you were going, and ended up running into me—standing stock still in the open doorway.
Annya gazed up at me, positively horrified, and took a step back… as if I were some sort of monster. On the other hand, Al, you looked up at me as if I were some sort of savior. I didn't know what I thought of myself as... All I knew was that something had to happen; something had to be settled. It'd been like a dam, before, collecting water…but the topic was about to break through the unspoken barriers, surging through with enough force to tear us all apart. Annya wasn't going to let this go… things were just going to get worse. Questions would be asked… More questions, rather—they'd already begun to notice, thanks to Annya's plaintive pointing, that neither you nor I had any close female friends. Except Annya. Though many assumed you and she were already engaged.
She made a point never to correct them.
Maybe I should have noticed then.
I'm not really sure what happened next. I think I dragged you away, without a word, slamming the door to our bedroom shut behind us. Annya screeched obscenities behind us in Russian, but I ignored them—sitting you on the edge of the bed and kneeling in front of you.
You stared at me as if I'd lost my mind.
Then I spoke, and you began questioning the whereabouts of my mind.
"She's right."
That's all I said. And you looked as if those two words had been the worst curse you'd ever heard in your life. You asked me if I was crazy, of course; looked like you were about to cry, yourself. I quickly placated you— wrapping my arms around your middle and holding you close. I wondered, vaguely, what the fuck I was doing…but every part of me knew that what I was doing was right. In the long run, for the most people, anyway… Never for me. And as I contemplated my stupidity for doing this, I said: "She's right. We knew this couldn't go on forever, Al. People just… people just don't understand. And they never will, you know?"
"What does that matter?" you retorted coldly, definitely trembling now. "Other people have never mattered before!"
I conceded that was true, but reminded you that we're stuck here, now, in a world where we're not special or famous—we don't get any breaks, anymore. We have to act like common people if we want to live for ourselves, live like we never got to in Amestris. It's Equivalent Exchange.
You told me that you'd rather be different; what was the point of living like we never got to in Amestris when the only thing you wanted was me? I bopped you on the head and assured you that you weren't getting rid of me that easily—I'd stick around whether you wanted me to or not.
But… "You have to marry Annya."
You didn't want to hear of it. You didn't even want to consider it. I tried to talk you into it nicely; promising that everything was going to be fine and exciting and didn't you always want kids? But you wouldn't stop shaking your head, quivering as tears slipped down your face. Whatever I said, you countered acidly—our argument rising in volume and fury until I finally gave a frustrated cry and…
And broke down. I was crying as well, for the first time in years; burying my face into your chest and whispering the words I swore I wouldn't: "Al… she'll tell. She'll ruin everything for us. You have to. We don't have a choice anymore."
You didn't speak for a moment—your tremors stopped. Then you pulled me as close as you possibly could, kissing me for all you were worth…
Later, when we emerged from our room, Annya was standing there—staring blankly at where the door had been only seconds before, eyes slightly glazed. She looked up at you, expressionless.
And I knew.
She'd heard every word.
You proposed to her on the spot—trying to smile, trying to pretend that this was what you wanted. Nobody was fooled; nobody tried to act like they were. And for a moment, we thought that Annya might relent. We thought that she might release you, since she knew you couldn't really give her what she wanted, this time.
…But no.
When you asked, she said yes.
Congratulations, Al.
—Ed
X
Alexander didn't realize he'd stopped breathing until his world began to spin, strangely fuzzy. Bolting upright and shaking his head to clear it, he read the faded entry three times through. "No way…" he gaped after the third time; insides vanishing as understanding turned his brain into frozen mush.
But it all made sense—now, anyway. He'd found the missing link Edward was talking about… Why Benjamin was so afraid, why he hated gays, but still had some degree of respect for his father.
"Because Edward Elric wasn't his father," Alex whispered, utterly and completely stunned. "Alphonse Elric was."
And knowledge like that could tear a child's whole world to pieces.
X
September, 1932
Dear Al,
You got married today.
—Ed
XXX
Woah! PLOT TWIST! X3
Hope you all enjoyed. And yeah, I know Benjamin's fear/past has not been adequately explained yet—don't worry, it'll happen soon.
In any case, I hope you enjoyed… especially that bit I threw in for the people involved in the Alex Topping Campaign. (You guys rock. XD)
Well, that's all for now. Hopefully chapter eight will be out, soon. Until then, thanks for reading:D
PS. Bonus points for anyone who can figure out why Edward's apartment number is what it is. X3