Disclaimer: C'mon, you've heard it all before.
Author's Note: Hey guys; sorry this chapter took so long. I took a bit of a break from writing… I've been really tired, and I've been longing to get some drawing done. (I'm working on a new doujinshi, woot:D) Don't worry, I wasn't ignoring Skeletons during that time—I've been working hard on the OST, too. XD
Apart from that, only one other thing to say before we get started:
THIS FIC IS NOT ANGST.
I admit, last chapter was angsty. I'll even give you that the chapter before it had some angst, and this one will, too. BUT THAT'S NOT ALL. I got really, really frustrated with the number of the people who felt it was necessary to tell me off for not labeling this entire fanfic as "romance/angst." I apologize for the lack of warning last chapter, but that's all. This fic is NOT ANGST. It's romance/GENERAL. Perhaps some of you missed it, but there's been humor, suspense—no adventure, but some action (haha)— drama... all those kind of things, as well, in previous chapters. Not just angst. So NO, I did NOT mislabel this fic, NOR will I be calling it "romance/angst." Sorry if this offends, but just wait. You'll see what I'm talking about soon enough.
On that note, thanks—as always—for all the sweet responses to last chapter! XD I'm glad you're all still enjoying, despite my cruelness to our darling Alphonse-kun. :3 I hope you like chapter 9!
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Alexander, Rosalie, and I grew up under the protective and influential wing of our mother. Dad was always busy with his job, you see, even at home—working on scripts and edits and technical mumbo-jumbo that no one really bothered to ask about. Not to say that he wasn't a good parent: he would make time for us, and we did have fun together. But Mom was our main role model, and you can still see proof of it today. As she's always been rather—shall we say—whimsical, she spent a great deal of time dousing our young minds with music and art and stories. She obviously did her job well: I adore painting and drama, Alex is almost always glued to his piano, and Rosie likes singing and writing whenever she has a spare minute. Even Mom's other, less dreamy passions, such as history, were inherited by my brother.
But the most memorable things that she passed down to us were her lullabies.
Funny, isn't it, how a person's mind works? The memories are wonderful, and the lessons she taught were great, but whenever I feel depressed or frustrated, it's the lullabies that I recall. They were soothing and sweet and haunting, and they always had a calming effect. The one that Alex and I heard the most when we were growing up was called "The Brothers." She never told us the meaning behind the words, or where she had learnt it, but it was by far our favorite. We'd sing it all of the time: in the car, in the park, in the bathtub, in our bedroom… when we took summer walks with Mom. She thought it was adorable, of course; there are probably tapes hidden somewhere in the attic of a little Al and I crooning the song in the backyard, digging holes to China as we did so. But while she encouraged our duet at home, I distinctly remember her telling us never to sing the song in front of Grandpa.
We questioned her, as children do, whining for no other reason besides that we could. But eventually we agreed, deciding it must be another one of those "adult rules" we weren't supposed to understand. Not that it mattered, anyway—we had different lullabies with Grandpa.
Singing was another one of Grandpa's secret pleasures. He was good at it. Or, at least, he once had been: but, like the rest of the body, voices grow old… until they become shadows of what they formerly were. Still, his was soft and gentle and managed to maintain a certain youth—the same kind that crept into his eyes, once in a while, when we visited; when he was playing with us or retelling tales.
Most of our visiting took place in his apartment… or, once in a while, the swings at the park. There, while telling us those endless stories, he'd mention a song or two he'd learnt in some foreign land and sing us a few bars. We'd make him repeat himself over and over again until we'd memorized it, and could sing along with him. He never seemed to mind, and would sometimes let us choose which lullaby to sing before naptime. Generally though, he'd pick for us.
Grandpa's usual lullaby…
I didn't like it very much; I found it depressing. But for some reason, it's been on my mind a lot, lately… and I'm beginning to think that maybe he'd been trying to tell me something. That maybe the song had been another story in and of itself.
There were two birds sat on a stone,
Fa, la, la, la, lal, de;
One flew away, and then there was one,
Fa, la, la, la, lal, de;
The other flew after, and then there was none,
Fa, la, la, la, lal, de;
And so the poor stone was left all alone,
Fa, la, la, la, lal, de.
X
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XXX
Skeletons
XXX
Time, Alexander had long since realized, was a funny, fickle thing. The days that had, before, flown so swiftly by—that had felt like mere hours at the time—had suddenly stopped; slowing to a monotonous drag that left him feeling physically heavy, and more than slightly depressed. Life was boring, now: colorless and cold. Empty.
And it didn't help that he knew the reason for the change; what his life was empty of.
Sighing deeply and dropping his chin to his desk, Alex ran his fingers through his hair, the math problems that he'd rested his cheek upon blurring in their closeness to his eyes. 'Has it really only been five days?' he mused flatly, turning to gaze unseeingly at his clock. Only five… it may as well have been an eternity. That's what it felt like, anyway, with no Edward or Rosie to talk to.
Alexander cringed at the memory, but that was the extent of his reaction. He was too miserable and numb to do anything else anymore, even cry. And even if he could, what was there to cry about? This was all his decision… his little sister had no right to be mad.
And yet, she was. When he hadn't gone to see Edward the previous day, she'd been stunned and concerned, ordering to know what the matter was—did something happen, did they have a fight? Was that why Alex had woken up the family with his piano at midnight? She only asked once, but her expression had left no room for debate: he was going to tell her what was wrong. Now. Which wasn't that big of a deal (or so he told himself): he hadn't been planning on keeping their breakup a secret from her. Still, when he answered—bluntly, flatly, obviously not feeling very well— Rosalie's rage was more pronounced than if he'd refused to say a thing.
"What do you mean, 'aren't together anymore?'" she'd demanded, spinning to face Alexander with a furious twirl of her spindly chair, her computer monitor glowing eerily behind her. Her face was white, but splotched with a warning, raging red…
Instinctively, Alex had turned away from the irate glare, poking at the large stuffed gorilla Rosie kept on her bed. "It was for the best," he'd whispered, voice still raw from all his noisy tears. He'd shed a lot of them, that night. "You know we can't be together, Rosalie. We're… it's just not how things work. This is for the best, I k—"
"Bullshit."
Alexander jerked involuntarily, silvery eyes sweeping up to meet her own: a blazing fire of aquamarine fury. If there was one thing Rosie could do well, it was be mad. Alex couldn't help but tremble—only once, and quite discretely—in her quivering presence.
"What the hell is your problem, Alexander?" she'd softly snarled, clutching her arm rests so tightly that her knuckles became the same color as the snow outside the window. "What the fuck will it take!"
"Rosalie!" Alex gaped, brow furrowing. "Don't—"
But his reprimand had been cut off by a furious sweep of her hand, slicing through the air like a scythe. In an instant she was on her feet, stomping towards him with a menacing grace. As she neared, her brother noticed with mild shock the violet bags beneath her eyes; the burgundy streaks leading away from her thick lashes. Had she been crying? "It's always about you, isn't it?" Rosie hissed, unbridled frustration darkening her voice. Her words began to pick up speed as they fell from her mouth… as if a dam had finally broken inside of her. He backed an inch away, stunned. "It's always about your selfishness and impulsiveness! It's always about your stupid whining and wailing and wishing—and then you run screaming when things get a little difficult! It's always about you! For once—just once—can't you do something for someone else! Do something for Edward!"
Alexander scowled, staring coldly down at his sister: intimidating, despite having let her back him into a corner, fists clenched and breathing heavily. "I am," he'd retorted vehemently, though just as quiet. "I'm doing this for Edward."
"You—rrgh!" Rosalie made claws with her fingers, gripping at the air and positively convulsing in aggravation. "You moron!"
And with that, he'd been physically kicked out of her bedroom.
Since then, Rosie hadn't spoken a word to him—not even something as simple as "pass the potatoes" at dinner time. But at least he wasn't the only one being ignored: Edward, too, seemed to be receiving similar treatment. Or, rather, Alex assumed he was—he'd heard her arguing with their older brother over the phone through his bedroom wall, and that conversation hadn't gone much better than their own. The call had ended, anyway, with Rosalie slamming the receiver down so hard that the plastic cradle cracked. That was as good a sign of her wrath as any.
Returning to the present with a pang of remorse, Alex shook his head, trying hard not to think about the argument, about Ed… about how jealous he was of Rosalie, for talking to him… remembering how his voice sounded, even over the telephone…
Shit.
Groaning furiously upon realizing he'd reached a whole new level of Pathetic, Alexander pushed himself to his feet, slamming his text book shut. He'd never get his homework done, now… not with his mind so obviously elsewhere, lingering on times both better and worse. Either way, they were times that easily trumped the 'now;' understandably, his brain had no apparent desire to return and work on Calculus.
Dad was going to kill him when he saw his next report card.
'Or maybe I'll just do the job for him and get it over with,' Alex thought gloomily, shoulders slumped despite his upright position. He ruffled his bangs with a loud sigh, stuffing his fists deep into his pockets; brooding like the child he was trying very hard not to be.
No, there was no denying it: Alexander was a mess. He didn't even feel like 'Alexander' anymore… more like a heavy, nameless waste of skin. Though perhaps that weight was his emotions' fault— everything that should be light or bubbly inside of him had been covered in lead and chained to some metaphorical wall, leaving him feeling more and more impassive with each passing second. His chest was a constant knot of tight tingling… aching. His lungs hurt. His heart hurt. His head hurt. But he stubbornly refused to acknowledge the reasons behind it. He could miss Edward all he wanted—'For platonic reasons only,' he told himself firmly, fruitlessly; but no—he was not going to be the reason Alex fell to pieces.
Alex was not going to fall to pieces.
'Alex is going to crumble into nothingness,' Alexander mused darkly, still standing in the middle of his room, staring at the bunk bed. He forcefully beat memories away, choosing instead to concentrate on the bed itself—staring at it until it no longer made sense in his mind; until the frame looked hazy and his mattress seemed surreal. "…I wonder if crushing your own heart always hurts this much," he murmured softly, in a voice so unlike his own that he startled himself.
Then he snorted, ashamed and embarrassed by his whispers, as he stalked out the door.
X
June, 1955
Dear Al,
I don't even know where to start. My mind is a jumble of facts and realizations and memories and emotions that are all blending together, mixing and melding and melting, leaving me empty, buzzing.
We buried you yesterday. It was a quiet ceremony: me, Annya, the priest, a few of your co-workers and friends. Gretchen—the woman you used to work with in New York, the one who taught Annya The Birds and The Bees— even came down for it. She was awfully kind; she took Annya home for me so that I could spend some time alone with you. And she brought you flowers, too—tiger lilies, your favorite. But Annya took them home with her, saying that you wouldn't have wanted them to wither away without anyone around to appreciate them. She's right, of course, but it still felt to me like she was stealing something from you.
But maybe I'm being stupid. Or maybe I'm just jealous that she knew what you would have wanted. That she knew you at all. And knew you well
Did she know you as well as I knew you? I'd like to think not, but…
I spent a long time with you, Al, alone in that cemetery. If life were like the movies, it would have been misty and gray and rainy outside, but no: it was bright and warm and sunny. The Cyprus trees were beautiful, rustling in the wind.
You would have thought so, too, I think.
I cried, Al. I cried a lot. More than I did when I first heard you'd...—dammit, I need to write it; I can't just pretend it didn't happen—
I cried more at the funeral then I did when I first heard you'd… died. I couldn't stop crying. I wasn't wailing or anything; I didn't make any noise at all. But the tears kept streaming down my face, so many that Annya thought I might wither like the tiger lilies.
Somewhere deep inside, I sort of wished I would. But I knew that you'd hate to see me wither, Al, even more than you'd hate to see the flowers go to waste.
Eventually I had to leave the cemetery. It was hard, so hard, to turn my back on you. But Annya had let me keep your wedding ring—in some attempt, I think, to surrender your memory to me— and when I held it I felt a little better.
I wanted to put it on a chain and wear it around my neck, Al, because it will always be yours and I have no right to pretend, but Annya asked me to wear it on my finger, because she needs a husband, now.
She's pregnant.
We found out the other day, after our doctor appointments. The hospital had forced us to take them, to make sure we were both healthy—meningitis-free. While they were examining Annya, I guess something seemed unusual, because they gave her a more thorough checkup than me, and… well… she not only got a "congratulations, you're perfectly healthy" but a "congratulations, you're expecting."
Two months along, too. I guess that makes sense, as her birthday was in late March, and we both know what she always asked for. Still, great timing, right? You're going to be a dad, and you're not even here. It must be the Elric curse, huh?
Don't worry, little brother. I'll take care of the baby for you. Even if I'm not as good with kids as you are, I'll try. I really will. You'll see…
But I'm scared. Actually, 'terrified' might be a better word. I'm terrified because you're not here; I'm waking up at night plagued by my old nightmares, only to find that they're real. I'm alone. And now this, with the baby—you know how terrible I am with children! You're the one with the parental skills. You're the one with the kindness and patience and love. I'm just… me. Cynical, cold, intolerant me. How am I going to do this?
How?
The numbness of shock is starting to wear off and I know I'm going to snap. I've already gotten drunk three times in the past two days—worse than with Heiderich. I can't go over the edge now, I know I can't… but I'm weak, Al. I've always been so weak without you…
God, I've got to pull myself together! I know I need to be strong for Annya; she's panicking, too. She doesn't know what to do, either. And I know you'd be telling me to settle down, right now. I've got to breathe and be rational.
I can do that.
But it's so hard, Al. It's hard to make sense and be tough and move on without you beside me.
Shit, I'm crying again. I can't let Annya see, or she'll worry. I've got to be calm. I've got to collect my thoughts.
I've got to put this journal away.
I'll try to write more later, Al, but it might be a while… It's hard to think of you, right now, and not fall to pieces.
—Ed
X
"Do I even want to know what you're doing here?"
The two teens in the hallway exchanged glances, as if trying to come up with some sort of plausible lie. Then the taller of the pair—the boy, with coal-black hair and dark honey eyes— grinned widely, his single silver earring jingling. "That's a stupid question, Ed. We're here to cheer you up!" He lifted a bag emitting a sweet-smelling aroma: French vanilla coffee, a specialty of Espresso Love, the cafe where both he and his female friend worked. Said female friend nodded, fixing her rectangular glasses with a long, pale finger.
Edward quirked an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe like a human blockade. "If Lisa wanted to cheer me up," he drawled, pushing a paintbrush behind his ear, "she'd have known better than to bring you along, Todd."
"You wound me," Todd quipped flatly, face momentarily expressionless, before swiftly reapplying his breezy, bright-white smile. "So are you gonna let us in?" he chirped, in a voice one might almost call "perky." "I can't wait to see what sort of dump you're wasting your money on." He began poking his head around Ed's body, nosily trying to peak in and see the flat.
Lisa, in contrast, just stared. An authoritative, white-hot, let-us-in-now-dammit sort of stare.
Resistance was clearly futile.
Sighing, Edward tugged a hand through his messy hair. "Oh… fine, sure, whatever," he eventually groaned, removing himself from the doorway and gesturing for them to follow him inside. Both did, exuberantly, and allowed themselves a moment to drink in the filth of apartment number 361 as Ed locked the door behind them. It really was a mess—paint and other art supplies had completely overtaken the main room. The white sheets that protected the hardwood floor from stains were covered in so many puddles of color that it looked as if Edward had melted a couple dozen rainbows. The kitchen, too, was a battleground of messy dishes and empty food cartons, but at least it had maintained a little order. While her friend pulled off his lab coat and dug out a fresh shirt from a pile of laundry in the closet, Lisa poked her nose into Ed's bedroom. That, at least, looked livable… there were even signs of him finishing his homework. She nodded, satisfied, as she returned to Todd, who had cast her a worried glance.
Edward noticed this with a furrowed brow, rebinding his long locks in a quick ponytail. "What?"
"Nothing," Lisa said quickly, smiling as she pushed a stray strand of blonde hair that fell from her messy bun behind her ear. The belled chopsticks she'd decorated the knot with tinkled merrily as she rolled back and forth on the balls of her feet. "I was just surprised to see your school stuff out."
"Well, yeah," Ed frowned, evidently perplexed by her shock. "I need to pass 12th grade, you know, if I want to get into college."
"So you are planning on going to college?" Todd asked hastily, digging three foam cups out of his paper bag. Edward took his drink with a strange expression on his face, popping the lid open.
"Of course I am," he replied, in a voice that let his two guests know how mentally competent he thought they were: not very. "I may have to take a year off to earn the money, but I still want to go to college. Why? And what're you guys really doing here, anyway?"
"We're just…" Lisa hesitated, shooting Todd a sideways glance. He picked distractedly at his football jersey, shrugging—apparently a bit embarrassed. She sighed as she continued, fingering her coffee. "We're just worried about you, Edward. That's all. And we wanted to come see how you're doing."
Ed blinked, genuinely puzzled. "Worried? Why?"
"Why?" Todd repeated incredulously, waving a vague hand at the easel he was standing beside. "Dude, you haven't used this much black since that week in ninth grade when your brother was seeing that Zena girl."
Edward scowled; Lisa gave the small ponytail on the nape of Todd's neck a sharp, reprimanding yank. "What he means to say," the girl amended, ignoring her coworker's yowl of pain, "is that you looked extremely depressed on Monday—then you skipped out the past two days. And you don't seem to be talking to your family at all. At least, Rosie and Alex both looked… distracted… at school. You were so worried about them when you spent the night at my house; are you guys fighting or something?"
A pause. "…or something," Ed then agreed with a humorless chuckle, sliding down the half-wall that separated his living room and kitchen. Todd and Lisa mimicked the gesture, flopping cautiously onto the only two dry spots they could find. Even then, Lisa seemed uncertain, not wanting to accidentally stain her lacy white blouse. "It's nothing, really. My brother and I just had a… disagreement." He toyed with the lid of his cup, popping it incessantly on and off.
Todd pursed his lips, dark brown eyes narrowing in skepticism. "You two disagree on things?"
This time, there was a hint of amusement in Edward's laugh. "We used to argue a lot when we were little… I guess I'm just not used to fighting with him, anymore," Ed admitted, careful to keep his eyes on his drink. "But it's fine, really—I'm not mad, or anything. And I'm not gonna try to make him change his mind, if this is what he wants."
"…um, okay," Lisa said slowly, not really following Edward's train of thought; but he was being cryptic, so that seemed to be his intention. "I guess that's good, but—"
"As for school," Ed continued, as if not having heard her, "that was my job's fault. They needed someone to pull a couple of day shifts, and I knew I could use the extra money. Don't worry, I've told my teachers most of the situation, and I'm getting all of my school work done. So I won't be kicked out of drama club for low grades, or anything, Miss Thespian President." He grinned at Lisa, who puffed out her cheeks, visibly indignant.
"It's not drama I'm worried about right now, you dope!" she huffed, gracing Edward with a scowl icy enough to challenge Rosie's. Even Todd cowered under the expression, staining the rear end of his jeans with paint in his attempt to scoot away. "It's you. You're obviously hurting over something and you won't talk to anyone about it! You just stay cooped up in here, alone… It's not good for you, and I won't stand for it!"
Taking this as some sort of cue, Todd nodded resolutely, jabbing his thumb at Lisa. "What she said."
For a minute or two, Ed simply stared at them, taken aback. Then he smiled slightly, shaking his head. "Really, guys… I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'm fine. I just need time to readjust… and think. That's all. I promise, I'll be back in school tomorrow."
With that, he stood; swiftly, in a way that told Todd and Lisa to do the same. They did, though hesitant, allowing their host to lead them to the exit.
"Thanks for the coffee," Edward said politely, holding the door open for the pair. They lingered uncertainly by it, not really wanting to be ushered out into the hall. "And I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Well… all right, I guess," Lisa surrendered, blowing out her cheeks. Shouldering her purse with a shrug, she pushed herself onto her tiptoes and kissed Ed's cheek goodbye. He repeated the gesture, glaring when Todd moved to do the same. Todd laughed, albeit somewhat nervously, and backed off…
Until Lisa had vanished down the hall. Then his face hardened gravely; he and Ed exchanged glances.
"Look," Todd murmured, in a voice so serious and stern it hardly sounded like his own anymore. "She's really worried about you. And—all jokes aside—so am I. It isn't like you to mope around, and I know from experience that even the strongest of people can do stupid shit when things get bad. So call, okay? I don't care at what time. We're here for you, if you need anything."
Apparently speechless, Edward's eyes widened, betraying his surprise. After a beat, however, he nodded, softening. "…thanks."
Just as suddenly as his expression had toughened, Todd's grin became teasingly sultry. "And I mean anything," he purred, snorting when Ed's face flamed, dancing just out of the other boy's reach; racing after Lisa. "Whenever you wanna try something new!"
"Screw you!"
"That's the idea!" returned Todd's distant, sing-song voice.
"I AM NOT SOME CHEAP LAY, MULTARE!" Edward screamed after the retreating back, positively seething as he slammed the door shut.
Regardless, he heard himself chuckle a moment later, unable to keep the small smile of amusement off of his face.
X
December, 1955
Dear Al,
Your son was born today.
I still can't believe it; Benjamin Alphonse Elric. Entirely happy and healthy… and after—or so I'm told—a perfectly normal pregnancy. (Not that pregnancy is ever "normal:" I swear, if you could have only seen Annya. And I thought Winry with a wrench was scary.) I wasn't in the actual room when the baby was born—after Elysia, I've had enough of seeing "baby stuff." And we both know how "helpful" I am during stressful situations.
However, Gretchen had decided to stay with us for the duration of Annya's pregnancy, and was (luckily) with us at the hospital. She and Annya have become really close friends over the months, and she's a blessing around the house—always running around and helping me with odds and ends. She reminds me a lot of Lieutenant Ross… you remember her, right? She even looks a bit like her. Maybe that's why I like her so much.
Anyway, she went in with Annya, and was probably a lot more useful than I would have been. She must have been, because Benjamin came into the world just fine… at least, after hours and hours of labor. But afterwards, the doctor said both he and Annya were okay.
Of course, I didn't just take the doctor's word on their health—I made sure myself.
And I got to see him.
It was… strange. It wasn't the first time I'd seen a new baby, or even the first time I'd held one. But when I demanded the doctors show Benjamin to me, when Annya let me pick him up…
Sorry, Al, I know it was selfish, but when I cradled him— carefully, like you would have, because I could tell that he was delicate; tiny and helpless and beautiful—I couldn't help it. I fell in love with him.
Is it okay if I call him my son, too?
—Ed
X
As he so often did when alone and annoyed, Alexander simply allowed his feet to lead him: through the hall, out the front door, down the paved streets… following some undetermined path in the radiance of the winter sunset. He smiled joylessly, mentally naming each color as it filled the heavens, remembering how furiously Edward would try to paint this sort of scene. He'd usually fail, complaining about how quickly the time flew by; how fast the reds, golds, violets, and blues shifted.
Alex wondered fleetingly if he was watching the sky now, through his dingy apartment windows. In response to the unasked question, his insides gave an agonizing lurch and the back of his throat stung; he bit the tip of his tongue to keep from whimpering. "Damn it," he muttered thickly, swallowing back the bitter lump in his throat and kicking a stray pebble. "Why am I so pathetic?"
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the chain link fence that had been built along the sidewalk. It jangled and clanked with metallic clarity, rustling through the still, cold air.
It was only then that Alex noticed his breathing, footsteps, and movements had not been the only sound. There was a creaking… shrill and rhythmic.
He looked towards it at the same moment a familiar, soft voice spoke: "No offence meant, Alex, but maybe you should worry more about talking to yourself out loud in public."
Alexander blinked, startled for a number of reasons. Looping his fingers through the gaps in the fence, he stared in shock at his destination: the playground. The same little park he had visited so often as a child, flanked by his siblings and grandfather. He hadn't been there in years, but it still looked the same: a row of old swings beside an aluminum jungle gym; a slide and rusting monkey bars in the distance. The ground, though covered in a thin layer of snow, was bumpy with small rocks and patches of dirt where the grass had been worn away, pounded down by hundreds of tiny feet. A scattering of maple trees interrupted the flat expanse of fenced-in safety, currently bare of any greenery, but normally lush with leaves and vines. And the entrance gate, when he pushed through it, squeaked just as noisily as it always had.
The second surprise—the speaker— beamed weakly at him as he neared, indicating the swing beside her. "You wanna sit for a while?"
He returned the grin with a little more enthusiasm, nodding. "Thanks, Amy."
She hummed her acknowledgment; stubbornly oblivious to the gaze Alex cast her, watching her with mild curiosity as he lowered himself onto a swing.
Amy Strayter was a pretty, quiet girl— a little rounder, perhaps, than most of the others in her freshman class, but with a kind face and intelligent chestnut eyes. She wore square-rimmed glasses with chocolate-colored frames that matched her short wavy hair, and was known to lug around more books than she could possibly read in a day. However, she had no books now—only a cheerless smile and woolen gloves that matched her ivory jacket. Pushing a booted foot off of the ground, she swung back and forth to a steady rhythm; the whining groan of the swing oddly comforting in the silence.
Amy cast him a sideways glance, the golden sunset glittering off of her spectacles. "Would it be rude of me to ask what the matter is?"
Alex chortled dryly, looking away from the younger girl and at his feet instead. "Maybe, but I'd say you have the right to. I guess I was sort of making a scene…"
"No, not really," Amy assured softly, looking out over the trees and towards the buildings crowding the skyline. "I've heard much worse. The only reason I said anything at all was because—well, I know you—and because you looked rather preoccupied."
"Did I really?" Alexander asked conversationally, though his eyes remained glued to his shoes. His fingers hesitantly curled around the chains of his seat; he gave himself a tiny push. "I didn't think it was that obvious."
If she heard the faint note of sarcasm in his tone, Amy chose to ignore it. Instead, she nodded, dragging her feet through the inch of slushy snow beneath her, slowing her swing. "I thought that maybe you'd had a fight with your… boyfriend… and wanted someone to talk to, or something."
Alex stiffened, hands clenched, jerking his head towards the girl. But now Amy was the one avoiding his eyes, ears and throat burning a bright shade of pink. She appeared slightly irritated in addition to wholly embarrassed. Horrified, Alexander felt his stomach flop, heart thudding loudly. "…How much do you know?" he asked, in a silent voice that wavered between petrified and biting.
Amy's flush darkened, brow furrowing. "Not much," she admitted, dragging the tips of her toes through the sludge. The darkening rays of amber sunlight morphed into a silvery indigo, littered with small, weak stars. The shimmer illuminated the dirty snow, making it sparkle like jewels. "Ever since Rosalie and I broke up we haven't—"
"Broke up?" The echoed phrase slipped off of Alex's tongue with an undertone of disbelief; he stared blankly at the girl beside him, utterly taken aback. "What do you mean, broke up?"
She blinked at him oddly. "As in, we're no longer dating…?" Amy clarified slowly, bemused by his alarm. Her bottom lip gave a subtle quiver, but she continued as if nothing were wrong. "We split up almost two weeks ago—didn't Rosalie tell you?"
"But why?" Alexander pressed, dismayed— and ashamed. No wonder Rosie had been looking so terrible… why hadn't she said anything? Hadn't she needed someone to lean on? Hadn't she needed someone to talk to? Why hadn't she told him?
Why hadn't he asked?
'Because I was too busy thinking about myself.'
It was as simple as that.
"Why?" Amy nearly glared at him, the puzzlement on her face twisting into an expression of incredulity. "Hasn't Rosalie told you anything?" She frowned at his flustered expression, turning away. It was getting more and more difficult to see her through the violet glow of twilight. "…maybe I shouldn't say anything, then," she muttered, more to herself than Alex. "She must not want you knowing how… never mind."
The squealing of swaying swings resonated through the night like a siren, filling the awkward silence with white noise. But Alexander spoke clearly over it, in a voice bursting with terror and dismay. "She told you, didn't she? About Ed and I."
Amy hesitated, eyes flicking towards him. "…yes," she cautiously confessed, readjusting her hold on the chains of the swing. "She did. Only me, though, so… you know, don't freak out or anything."
"I guess you didn't take it well?" Alex asked, stunned by how nonchalant he'd managed to sound. The girl giggled listlessly, nodding once.
"I think it's utterly repulsive what you and your brother are doing," she announced quietly, in a light tone better suited for discussing the weather. "And I told your sister so. She got really mad… called me closed minded and a hypocrite. I told her that it was better than being a—well, I really shouldn't repeat what I called her. I shouldn't have said it then, either; I didn't mean it, but… we just kept fighting—over beliefs and behaviors and dumb habits until…" Amy hiccupped, eyes filling with sudden tears as her voice hitched and broke. Her glasses fogged as the heat of her tears collided with the frozen air; Alexander glanced to the side, innards squirming with guilt and dread and mortification. 'They broke up over us?,' he choked, starting to feel ill. 'And then I… so Rosie's mad because…'
He wriggled, uncomfortable. "I, um, didn't know. I'm… sorry."
Amy didn't respond, choosing instead to toe at a rock poking out of the snow.
Alexander swallowed. "I guess… I ought to tell you, then," he continued, almost inaudibly, "since you and Rosie don't seem to be speaking. My— er— boyfriend and I… we broke up, too."
The girl snapped her head up, eyes wide and wet.
"A few days ago," Alex continued in a rush, feeling as if he didn't say this now he wouldn't be able to at all. "At the mall. My mom had… said some things to me earlier that day that made me wonder how much she knew. And it scared me. I couldn't think of anything else all day; it felt like everyone around me knew my secret and was judging me for it. I couldn't stand it— and I had just read something that… didn't help me feel any better. So I… I broke up with him," he finished lamely, slumping lower in his seat. "I told him that it wouldn't work; it never could. That the world just… isn't ready for us."
He shot Amy a rueful smile. "Does that help? We're not doing anything utterly repulsive, anymore."
She said nothing; her expression didn't change in the slightest. Then she scowled, dark eyes narrowing. "And how is that supposed to help, exactly?" she inquired, a hint of coldness in her voice. "Where does it leave us? Now we're both miserable."
Alex could think of nothing to say in response to that.
Amy sighed, leaning back in her seat. "Alex… I think incest is wrong. I always will. Nothing will change that for me, and not even Rosalie can talk me out of it. But I also know what it's like to be hated because you're 'different'… and it sucks." She squeezed her eyes shut, fists tightening around the chains of her swing. "So I'm not judging you. And I don't hate you, even if you and Edward… you know." The tips of her ears and the back of her neck burnt again, this time a vibrant crimson. "But… even if I did hate you… was your brother so insignificant that you could write him off, just because others didn't agree with your relationship?"
The older boy stiffened, scowled; glaring at the rising crescent moon to keep from glaring at his companion. "It's more complicated than that."
"I know," Amy whispered, unfazed by his snarl, "But that makes your answer to my question all the more important."
Alexander didn't reply, only squeezed his hands around the swing chains until they stung.
The conversation was over, and they both knew it.
Amy stood with a rattle of playground equipment, removing her glasses so as to dab her eyes dry. Then she offered a small smile, pushing her fists deep into her pockets. "I gotta go home, now," she told him delicately, nibbling on her bottom lip. "My mom will flip out if I stay here late again."
Alex couldn't help it. "Again?"
The girl's grin saddened. "Rosalie and I used to meet here a lot," she shrugged, coloring a bit as she glanced doggedly to her right. "I keep hoping that she might show up… and we can talk."
"You should come over to our house," Alexander said steadily, not quite sure if this was an invitation or a command. "She's been staying home a lot, lately… maybe …"
Amy shrugged a second time, in a neutral sort of way. But the nervous fear was easy to spot in her eyes. "Well…I'll see you around, Alex."
"Yeah…" he agreed silently, watching her trudge forlornly out of the park. "See you."
The low wail of the swing set sounded even more melancholy when he was alone.
X
February, 1960
Dear Al,
Life has been so crazy lately; I don't even know what to write about. We moved again, for one thing—to a little suburban town in Minnesota. It's a lot like Resembool; perhaps that's why I love it. There are so many trees and hills and fields... It's really rather nostalgic.
We got a small house on the edge of the subdivision: it's blue and shaped like a box. I kind of like it, in a weird sort of way. Annya planted red tulips in front of it, trying to make it look less—I dunno, box-ish—but only succeeded in giving the house the appearance of a three-dimensional Fourth of July poster.
I got a job at the museum in the nearest city; that's why we moved. Gretchen came with us, too. The official reason is because she has family here and hated her job in New York. The unofficial reason is because Annya needed a friend, and Gretchen enjoys playing Benjamin's nanny.
Speaking of, Benjamin just recently turned four. And though I swore to myself that I'd never be like Hughes, I couldn't help it… I carry his picture around. (Don't worry, I don't show it off to too many people.) He really is adorable: he loves playing catch, digging holes in Annya's garden, and spits out peas whenever we put them on his plate. His favorite song remains "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," even though Annya has tried desperately to teach him something new. And though he loves animals, you'd be disappointed—he seems to be allergic to cats.
He looks a lot like you, Al, and it almost hurts my heart to see it: same hair color, same facial structure, same eyes… though his are a bit darker, more green than hazel. His bangs even stick out like yours used to, when you were a baby: cow-licked and tousled. And I swear to God, I'll never see anything cuter than him running through the house in his footy pajamas, squealing for piggyback rides.
I miss you, when I'm with him. He reminds me so much of you when we were little. And though I know you're completely different people—and I'll always love you as such—it can be painful to see your smile on someone else's face. Even someone so lovable.
Annya has trouble with it, too, sometimes. For the most part, we're getting along fine: we don't fight much, anymore, and are very convincing in our fake marriage. But she misses you, too; more than I care to admit. And I know she cries, sometimes, when she thinks I'm not around.
Regardless, she's a good mother and a strong person. Somehow, I know that she'll be fine.
You know what? I think I might be, too.
—Ed
X
Mismatched footsteps echoed loudly through the misty dusk air; a brisk, steady rhythm broken only by the pausing click of a key. Once the lock was undone, the two shivering teens wordlessly cheered: leaping into the warmth of the large red truck and slamming the doors shut with twin sighs of relief.
Rubbing heat back into her frozen hands, Lisa turned to her companion. "So… what did you think?"
Todd frowned as the blonde revved up her car, resting his chin in his hand and gazing out the window at the oncoming night. "You were right," he said calmly. "Something big must have happened."
"But what?" Lisa asked, more of herself than of her friend. "I mean, Edward said that he and Alex used to fight all of the time… would another sibling spat really do this to him?"
"Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with Alex at all," Todd suggested, closing his eyes. Lisa cast him a quick, curious glance when they paused at a stop sign. "Maybe he's love sick."
"What?"
"It's plausible," the boy argued, visibly insulted by Lisa's cynical tone. "He's depressed, his artwork is black and blue, and he's pouting. Guys don't pout unless it's over something like love."
"This you know from experience, I presume?" Lisa scoffed, rolling her eyes. Todd made an indistinct noise in the back of his throat, brushing off her mocking comments.
"Just because he didn't seem to be dating anyone at school, doesn't mean he wasn't. And c'mon, have you seen his face the past few months? This week excluded, of course. It was the face of a man who was gettin' some."
It was Lisa's turn to groan: distastefully, exasperated. "Must you be so tactless?"
"No need to be jealous," Todd grinned, obviously enjoying himself. "If you want some, too, all you need to do is ask."
She retched when he purred, mischievously batting his lashes. "You disgust me."
"I love you, too."
Lisa turned scarlet, but otherwise didn't comment. "So what're we gonna do about Edward?"
The older boy lifted a raven eyebrow, turning his head towards his co-worker's. "Nothing, of course." Predicting Lisa's outburst before it came, he held up a hand. "Look—nosing around in his business is only going to make him mad at us. Edward may be stubborn, but he's not suicidal, and he's not stupid. If he needs help, he'll call. He has before. Didn't he call you for help when he got kicked out?"
"Well…" Lisa reluctantly mumbled, "yes, but—"
"You see? He swallowed his pride, rather than sleep outside in a cardboard box. And if he needs to, he'll do it again. For now, all we can do is wait."
Grudgingly, she had to admit her friend had a good point—and his plan made a lot of sense. Still… "I hate waiting," Lisa grumbled, more to have the last word than anything else. She knew when she was defeated. "It makes me feel all antsy."
Todd smiled faintly. "Well, you better get used to it, babe. Sometimes, waiting is all you can do."
X
September, 1971
Dear Al,
It's funny how quickly the years pass by—it's like I blink and they're gone. Benjamin's 16th birthday is fast approaching; I can't believe he's in high school. Homework, dating, sports… it's strange to watch him go through this, even stranger when he asks me about my "high school days." What can I possibly say to that? "I didn't go to high school. I've told you: I got a job with the government as a state alchemist when I was 12 and was busy trying to return my baby brother to his original body with the Philosopher's Stone."
Oh yes, Benjamin knows all of our stories—he grew up with them. But that's all he thinks they are. Stories. And it's sort of hard to convince a sardonic teenager of another world, parallel to ours, where science is ruled by the principal I've been force-feeding him since he learned to open his mouth: Equivalent Exchange. So I usually just make some sort of vague grumbling noises and leave the room whenever he tries to ask.
I think it's starting to frustrate him. He looks tormented about something, sometimes—and we get into a lot of arguments over nothing. But Annya says he's just being a teenager. I guess that's true, I mean, she was like that.
…and, all right, yes, so was I. (Happy? I said it.)
Another odd thing—those 'dates' I mentioned. It's weird, watching the little boy who used to be so proud about making spit bubbles get all dressed up to take a girl to see some movie in a dark theatre. I mean, she won't even be able to see him, anyway. What's the point? And…
And it's painful, watching him get all "mature," trying to be "independent." I don't like it. What if he does something stupid? What if he gets in trouble? What if he gets hurt? What if he hurts someone else?
It's hard to concentrate on Date Nights; when he's out there being "mature" and "independent" with girls in movie theaters.
My restlessness, of course, is a source of constant amusement for Annya. She teases me unremittingly, masking her own worry with the giggles she gains at my expense. But she apologizes and busies herself by making chocolate chip cookies, so I guess its okay. It's nice to hear her laugh… and to be with someone who cares as much for the same people as I do. There really is something to be said for bonds.
I've got to go. Our son just came back from another one of his dates—this time with some tramp he said was named "Julie." I should make sure she left him in one piece.
–Ed
X
The clock read 9:02 PM when Alex finally pushed through the back door, edging into the shadowed kitchen with little more caution than a burglar. He had, after all, no desire to be seen or heard, even if he was well within curfew; the thought of having to answer questions pertaining to his mood or travels only served to irk him. Mom was probably sketching in her bedroom, Dad most likely writing in his study. Let them stay there, and leave him alone.
He had other things to do.
Swallowing silently and slipping out of his jacket, Alexander marched resolutely through the hallway, face set but stomach fluttering. However, despite his fears, once he'd reached Rosalie's door, he didn't shy away. Instead, he knocked boldly, twice, before letting himself in.
Rosie was sitting on the ground amidst dozens of old computer parts, attaching stray pieces with the help of a screwdriver she'd stolen from the family junk drawer. Her back was to her brother, bluntly ignoring him when he cleared his throat.
Regardless, he pressed on, talking over her hushed humming.
"I'm sorry… about Amy, Rosie."
Rosalie froze; Alex could see the cords in the back of her neck tighten beneath the skin. Her baggy blue sweater slipped further down her rigid shoulder. Still, she didn't speak.
"I guess I understand why you're so mad at me, now," he continued quietly, squeezing the doorknob. His toes curled painfully around the shaggy carpet. "I didn't notice that you were hurting when I should have. And you put so much work into my relationship with… only to have us break up out of the blue. Considering why you and Amy split, it must have been a double whammy and sickly irony. So I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Amy, about things not working out for Ed and I… and I'm sorry that you're right. About me, I mean," he whispered, working to keep his voice casual. He wasn't going to cry, and he wasn't going to pout. He was going to be mature about this, dammit. "I've been really selfish lately… and an idiot, I guess. When I wasn't in denial over everything, I was complaining like a child. Then, when I had gotten what I wanted, I acted like a spoiled brat and… well, you know."
Rosie had yet to turn around, respond, or ask how Alexander knew what he did, but she had, at least, put down her screwdriver. Alex noticed this with a small surge of relief: she was listening.
"I guess I really suck at Equivalent Exchange," he continued with a listless chuckle. "Dad would be furious… You spent so much time helping me through my problems, and I didn't even bother to see if I could help you with yours. Heck, I made things worse. So… I guess I just wanted to let you know that I realize that, now. And I'm gonna try to be a better brother. Okay?"
He waited for a moment, but she made no sign of having heard him. Well, that was fine—she had a right to be angry. Alex nodded towards her, in spite of her turned back, and was just about to leave when he heard it—
A sniffle.
Alexander hesitated, bewildered. "Rosie…?" he murmured, inching into her bedroom. On the floor, Rosalie was lifting her hands, rubbing them furiously in the vicinity of her eyes; moving her arms to hide the top half of her face with her wrists. It was a gesture Alex hadn't seen since she was 5.
She was crying.
"Rosie? Rosie, what's wrong?" he asked desperately, crouching beside her and gingerly brushing her back. But rather than reply, she simply fell against him—sobbing noisily into his chest.
Startled and justifiably confused, Alex nonetheless wrapped his arms around her, waiting patiently for his little sister to calm down.
X
May, 1979
Dear Al,
College.
It's another one of those things that I don't really understand, but pretend to, anyway. College is where Benjamin is coming back from—he studied creative writing (Annya was thrilled) and animation. He's talking about trying to put out a book, but he wants to get a steady job somewhere, first. So he's come back to live with Annya and I for a while, so as to look around and consider all of his options.
Admittedly, it's rather pathetic how "big" this news is to Annya and I. Our lives have been sort of boring, with him away. The museum is keeping me busy with presentations and exhibits and all sorts of "Important Things;" Annya is filling her time by giving neighbor kids piano lessons. There's a girl in high school—her name is Teri, I think—who comes by every other day. She'll usually stay for tea following her lessons and talk with Annya. Sometimes she'll even come over when she doesn't have a lesson. She likes to hear Annya's stories, I think. She seems like a sweet girl. I wish Benjamin would date someone like her, for a change. He keeps seeing idiots like that "Julie" tramp. You'd think he'd find smarter girls at those big-city schools.
Speaking of big cities… I took a business trip to Chicago, recently. While I was there, I visited the cemetery. Maybe that's why I took out this old journal again; you've been on my mind more than usual. It's still weird, and it still painful, to look at that headstone and know that you're underneath it. But at the same time, it's grown a lot easier. I'm not sure why… but it's like you're not really there.
No, not in the "denial" way. But don't you remember what we discussed? Water, 35 liters; carbon, 20 kilograms; ammonia, 4 liters; lime, 1.5 kilograms; phosphorus, 800 grams; salt, 250 grams; saltpeter, 100 grams; sulfur, 80 grams; fluorine, 7.5 grams; iron, 5 grams; silicon, 3 grams; and trace amounts of 15 other elements. That's what's down there. The components of a body. But your soul? What made you, you? That's not.
Maybe it's at the Gate. Maybe it's in Heaven—if there is one, ha. Or maybe you're still here. That's what it feels like, the most. Whenever something is going badly, or whenever I get too depressed, or whenever I see something wonderful, or whenever I smile. It's like you're with me, somehow…
I guess I sound nuts, don't I? But that's okay. It wouldn't be the first time!
I love you, Al. Still, and I always will. So much that it hurts, sometimes; but enough to know that I've got to keep moving forward.
Just remember that.
— Ed
X
Back when he still enjoyed coming to visit, Alex had decided to conduct an experiment with Edward's small balcony. Buying a thin wooden board and a tiny potted plant, his little brother had taken it upon himself to see if the rusted metal bars could support anything other than its own weight. To their great surprise, the small porch had managed to hold the itty-bitty cactus for a grand total of five minutes before making disturbing creaking noises.
They'd removed the pot and board and vowed—on pain of immediate, unavoidable death—to never step foot on that balcony.
Ed smiled at the memory, sliding the glass door open and easing himself onto the floor. It was a frigid night, cold and clear with a sky full of stars. The air was brisk and thin, the way it always seemed to be in wintertime, and as he lit a cigarette Edward wondered if Alex had remembered to pull out an extra quilt for himself. If he didn't, he'd have bad dreams.
The blonde frowned pensively, wondering if, perhaps, he should call Alex and remind him… But no: he was just making excuses to talk to him, something he knew he couldn't do right now. Not yet. Not without his heart throbbing terribly.
He was pathetic, there was no getting around it. Job or not, he knew the real reason he chose to skip school— to avoid seeing his little brother. If he wasn't there, he wouldn't have to watch Alex walk through the halls, head bent and eyes downcast, deep in thought; see him joke and laugh with his friends through the classroom doors; eye him as he lingered at his locker every other period, trying to remember what he needed for his next class. All of those little things that Alex did, all of those little things that drove Edward wild.
He was being stupid, and he knew it. He couldn't spend his life hiding from his family; he didn't want to. He still loved them, no matter what happened… no matter what didn't happen… and he didn't want to say good bye. Especially not over this—he had known what would happen if things turned sour, he always had. It had been a risk he'd been willing to take, and consequences he'd sworn he'd see through.
But he honestly hadn't ever thought things would go wrong.
Sighing, Edward exhaled a stream of slate-colored smoke, watching it drift off into the cloudless sky. "I really meant it, you know," the boy whispered, as if his brother could hear him from wherever he was. "I only want you to be happy… but it would've been nice if you were happy with me."
He smiled drearily, taking a long drag from his cigarette.
Slipping his legs through the large gaps in between the bars of the balcony, Ed found himself humming a childish tune, allowing his mind to drift with the melody. It was oddly easy, distracting himself from the cold that tore through his lab coat with old lullabies. "There were two birds who sat on a stone," he crooned softly, expelling a second ribbon of gray air. "Fa, la, la, la, lal, de." His grim grin brightened a fraction, remembering the summer days he used to spend singing in the park with his brother and sister, back when they were kids.
Maybe someday, he hoped—once he'd found the strength not to fall apart in front of Alex—they'd be able to do that again.
X
May, 1987
Dear Al,
Do you remember that old rocking chair we bought in New York? The one with the fading yellow paint and the crooked seat? You loved to sit in it and stare out the window, watching the sunset while you pet your cats.
That's what I'm doing now, though I'm writing rather than petting. Sitting by the window and rocking… The sunset is beautiful, and the movement is oddly soothing. Annya used to rock Benjamin in this chair, you know, when he was a baby. I think he's going to take it with him to his new house.
Yes, Benjamin is buying his own house. With Teri, that high school girl Annya used to tutor. Because they're getting married. Tomorrow. (I guess Annya's a better matchmaker than I gave her credit for.)
I'm happy for them both, I really am. Teri is a wonderful girl, and Benjamin really loves her. But I'm worried about them. And no, not just because they're getting married.
They're moving, too. To Japan. Benjamin got a job with some foreign company and is being transferred there. I don't know how they managed to get a house, that country is fucking crowded. And expensive. And busy. And far away.
Really far away.
I've been to Japan, before. You've been there, too. I suppose it was nice enough, but what's wrong with staying here? I don't get it.
Well, all right, maybe I do. But still…
I guess 'goodbye' is always hard to say, no matter how often you have to say it, huh?
— Ed
X
Rosalie had never been one of the women who could make crying look pretty. When she cried— which was rarely— it was a loud, messy, splotchy-skinned and red-eyed affair that she found unspeakably horrifying. This was why she tended to avoid tears. However, when they came, they came with vigor; Alex sat with her on the floor for over an hour, listening to the wails gradually fade into pathetic, wet snivels.
Eventually, she managed to sit up, face blotched and pink and moist with sticky salt. Her mascara had smeared, too; she ground the palms of her hands briskly against her eyes, highly embarrassed.
"Feel better, now?" Alex inquired warily, though visibly concerned.
Rosie nodded once, accepting the tissue he dug from his pocket. Blowing her nose with a sound similar to that of a foghorn, she sighed. "Yeah… sorry about that. I guess I just…"
"It's okay," he soothed, grinning and teasingly poking her side. "It's not like I don't cry all the time."
Rosalie smiled wryly. "I suppose."
Silence fell for a minute or two—not comfortable, but not exactly awkward, either. Just sort of heavy.
Alexander hesitantly tested the waters a second time. "So… does this mean you're talking to me again?"
His sister's small grin vanished, replaced by a scowl. "No," she groused, casting him a frosty stare. "Not until you stop being stupid and get back together with Edward. I know you still love him, Alex!"
"Of course I do," he replied agreeably, in a suspiciously detached tone. "He's my brother."
Wrong answer. "Not what I meant," Rosie spat, smacking him painfully over the head with her screwdriver. Alex hissed, clutching his abused skull. "And you know it."
"So what if I do!" Alex retorted, annoyance flaring inside of him. "Let's consider a few other things, shall we? One—what Dad will do to us if he finds out. Edward has already been kicked out, I don't want to be responsible for having him killed, too! And I don't even want to think about what he'd do to me. Then there's the future—what future? Incest is illegal, Rosie, and not everyone is as accepting as you. We can't live our lives hiding in the shadows. We can't be together. It's just not possible. If we want to be happy… this is the only way."
Rosalie glowered, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're good at reciting the rules," she commented dryly. "But do you really believe them?"
No. "Yes," he said decisively, mentally beating his forehead against the wall. He was not going to give in! This was for the best… it had to be… "Yes, I do."
Making a sickened noise in the back of her throat, Rosie turned away from him, working furiously on assembling her computer parts. Getting the feeling that she wanted to be left alone, now, Alexander got steadily to his feet, making his way to the door.
"Alex?"
The boy paused, leaning lightly against the doorframe. "Yeah?"
"You're being an idiot again."
Alexander smiled desolately. "Maybe I am."
He left, closing the door behind him.
X
January, 1998
Dear Al,
I'm not sure how I feel about emotions. They're bewildering and fickle and only serve to confuse me, most of the time. Like now. So many happy things have been occurring, but so many sad ones, too. It all leaves me feeling sort of…I don't know, light-headed.
I guess I should explain. I'm writing this on an airplane. Unlike emotions, I know I don't like airplanes. I swear to God this fucking piece of metal is going to crash into the ocean; how could it possibly stay air born? Last "air born" thing that I encountered squished me (well, Cullison, rather) flat. Stable my ass.
But it's the quickest (and cheapest) way to get to Japan, so Benjamin says to stop whining and deal with it. (I guess that would be my influence, there.)
Yes, I'm going to Japan. And I'm going there to stay.
Only me.
Annya passed away, earlier this month. It wasn't as distressing as when you died; more bittersweet. She just fell asleep one night and didn't wake up the next morning. She looked peaceful, though. Happy. And she had lived a full life.
I cried at her funeral, too; more than I thought I would. It really is difficult to say goodbye to someone you've known for so long and have grown so close to. Annya and I… we'd become really good friends. You'd be proud of us, Al. That, and…
Well, it's like the end. Now that Heiderich and you and Annya; even Gretchen, who died a few years ago from lung cancer; are all gone— buried in Chicago, beside you… in graves I'll probably never see again— I'm alone. It's like a door has shut. Everyone who knew about my "old life," Amestris… even the ones who thought the stories were just fantasies… They're dead.
Except Benjamin, of course. But still, it's different with him. He's our son, a continuation, if you will, of the story. As much as I love him, there will always be a gap between us; our beliefs and experiences. It's a very lonely feeling.
But despite all of the sadness, there's been some happiness, too. Benjamin and Teri came to visit for Christmas, and they brought their new baby with them. He was born last November and—I couldn't believe it— was named after me. Edward Simon Elric. I blushed for the first time in years when I was told. Annya was simply thrilled to have a grandchild; she tried her best to spoil Edward rotten. Thankfully, he slept through most of the visit.
I wonder if he managed to sleep through the plane ride, too. If so, I'm jealous. I hate this stupid contraption… the fucking turbulence almost gave me a heart attack.
But in addition to the quickest and cheapest, this is also—apparently— the safest (HA!) way to get to Japan, where my new apartment is.
Benjamin bought it for me after Annya passed away. I guess he figured I wouldn't want to stay in our house by myself… it'd be too quiet. So he's moving me to the city closest to his house, so that he and Edward and Teri can come visit and "take care of me." (Because I'm such a high maintenance pet, I suppose.)
I don't know… I guess I don't mind leaving America behind, and it'll be nice to be by the remainder of our family, but it almost feels like I'm taking a step backwards. America is where we went to move forward, Al—now it's like I'm running away.
But… at least I'm still running, right?
— Ed
XXX
I've been watching the OVA that inspired this fanfic more and more often… and I think I love it more than I ever have, now that I "know the story" behind it. X3
Anyway, guys, next chapter is the LAST ONE! Well, they'll be an epilogue, too, but, you know… I figured I should give you some warning, so there it was. Hard to believe, huh? This fic has just flown by… O.o
Don't worry, though, even after the epilogue, Skeletons won't really be over. There's still BS chapter three to work on, and a bunch of one-shots I want to write. (Specifically some for Rosie, who deserves much more "air time" then she's getting, and a few set back when Benji-papa was a kid. X3) Plus, I'll be posting a bunch of other goodies on the Skeletons LJ community, such as the OST and some other surprises. X3
Thanks again for all of your support, guys! I'll write more soon. :D
(PS. For the people who want to know the grandparent!Elric's ages—Al died at 45; Ed is 50 and Annya is 40 when Ben is born. CRAZY AGES, I know. But as Ben is only 60 nowadays (in 2015, anyway), he was obviously born later…
Well, I'm sure Ed was okay at playing daddy at 50. I mean, look at the OVA—he was up and kicking and still wearing automail like it was nothing at age 100. And Annya is…er, was… strong, too, so… yeah. Just pointing out that I realize the ages are high for having kids. But they're a weird family, so there ya go. X3)