Part 2 out of 4. I would like to say that I am pleased to pieces with the fact that I wrote this before chapter 56 of the manga was published, and we see (spoiler!) Ling doing something rather similar. I figured it out before Arakawa published it! XD yeah!

"After the heart, the actions will follow..."

He hadn't known what he was getting into. He lay on the bed in Edward's dorm room and roundly cursed everyone he knew, especially the bastard to got him into this mess. Come to think of it, it was his own fault, wasn't it? he decided to cut off that line of thought. He stared morbidly at the dark ceiling. He didn't even dare curse out loud, he mused, because then Al would immediately revert to wakefulness to check what was wrong. Ever since Edward's return, Al hadn't let his brother out of his sight. Keeping up the act took concentration 24/7, because he didn't dare slip up. If something happened to him he wouldn't be able to restore Al –he wrenched his mind away furiously. The bastard might control he body, but he wasn't going to surrender his thoughts without a fight!

I don't care about Al, he thought firmly. In fact…the idea left his mind reeling, I'm going to kill him! Then you'll have nothing to live for, and you'll leave me alone!

NO! the scream tore through his mind, followed by paralyzing terror. He sat up, tried to move towards the armor, but found himself hugging his knees in panic. Stupid, really, a small part of his mind whispered, you haven't been able to fight him until now, what makes you think he'd let you kill his brother? His pupils dilated and he wanted to scream, but his throat seemed frozen.

"Ed? What's wrong?" Al's worried voice came, and the armor rushed to his side. He shook his head and tried to shy away from the armor, even though his whole body was begging for the reassurance of his touch. When the gauntlet finally touched him, he felt all his resistance melt away, and the terror slowly lessened.

"Ed, talk to me! Are you alright?"

He nodded mutely, dimly aware that a part of him wanted to alleviate the worry in Al's voice. He wouldn't beg, refused to beg –"Stay close to me?" his traitorous mouth pleaded. Al nodded, and loudly sat down next to his bed. He felt like a coward. How had he even considered killing him a moment ago? The very idea horrified him. Just because it was tough was no reason to give up.

Walking on base was a strange experience for him. Against his will, he found himself relaxing as soldiers he didn't know greeted him with grins or waves, or even just nods. He had never belonged anywhere before. The jealousy he felt from his parasite only made it sweeter; the 'belonging' was now his.

When he finally reached Mustang's section he found himself strangely calm, despite the fact that he knew he would have to report, and he had no clue what he was going to say. An unfamiliar female soldier told him, slightly apologetically, that the Colonel was busy now and he would have to wait. From the startled looks on the other soldiers' faces, he gathered that his easy acceptance was very uncharacteristic, but it was too late to do anything about it. Besides, it was difficult to care.

He sat down against the wall of the Colonel's office, and let the peace seep into his bones.

They're not here. The comment was rather sad.

Who?

Hawkeye…Havoc…Breda…Fuhrer sent them away.

Despite the bittersweet memory, he still felt safer than he had in years. It was strange that despite his strong dislike of the military, Edward felt the calmest right here, outside the Colonel's door.

Before he knew it, his head dropped to his knees and he was asleep.

Somebody was shaking him awake. He raised his head, completely disoriented, and looked into a pair concerned coal-black eyes. For one almost blissful moment he had no idea where he was, who he was-

Edward Elric. He was not allowed to forget.

"Fullmetal," the name was left hanging, but there was a question behind it.

He was rather tired of people constantly asking him if he was ok, though considering Ed's lifestyle, they had ample reason to worry. He coaxed his face into a smile and pushed himself up with a small grunt. Thankfully, the colonel didn't try to help him. He preceded the Flame Alchemist into the office, and sat nervously on one of the sofas. He still didn't know what he was going to say. All he had to go on was the conviction that Mustang would help him.

"You've been gone a long time," Mustang began, "and you failed to contact anyone at all. You also have not submitted a written report on your return."

He licked his lips nervously, and hoped it would work. "I didn't dare," he said urgently.

"What do you mean?"

He bit his lip and looked away. "You gotta promise you won't freak."

Mustang rolled his eyes slightly at the phrasing, but nodded solemnly and stood up behind his desk. "Tell me what happened."

He gulped, then stood up and walked to the desk, dropping his red coat on the sofa. He could see Mustang's surprise when he stripped off his black jacket too. He forestalled any words by presenting his left shoulder –and the telltale red symbol on it –for scrutiny. Faking an ouroboros there was child's play for him.

The colonel gasped, but he clenched his jaw and stared determinedly straight ahead.

A sudden movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he jerked away, wide-eyed.

"You shithead Colonel!" He backed away from the Flame Alchemist, who had his fingers pressed together menacingly. Had he chosen wrong? How could the Colonel betray him like this? Edward had trusted him so much…

Mustang? Hurt bewilderment laced the mental question.

"You…I thought you would help me!" he pleaded, backing away further.

"I have no proof you are indeed Fullmetal. You could be Envy." Mustang's watched him grimly, closing the distance between them.

He tried to fight the words, but they forced themselves out of his mouth, leaving a bitter taste. "Envy's dead! I…killed him…." he swallowed, and continued quickly. "And why the hell would anyone else bother impersonating me! Believe me, I haven't changed in any way that matters. All I want is to restore Al!"

"I have been led to believe the homunculi think differently than humans."

He clenched his fists. "I don't care how I think. I just want him whole again."

Mustang could believe that. He could believe that Edward's determination to restore his brother might outlast the world itself, if it had to. He relaxed, but didn't completely lower his guard. "How did this happen to you? I want a full report!" he demanded.

He took a step back. This was the question he couldn't deal with. No lie he invented would be convincing enough, and he couldn't evade the question.

"I…" he began. Give me a panic attack now! he screamed quietly. For one moment he felt confusion, then a wave of misery and panic swept through his mind. For once, he was marginally happy about the horror of it all. He clenched his eyes shut, and whimpered, his body curling slightly on reflex. "No," he panted out, dimly aware of Mustang near him, talking to him, the voice coming from far away. He grabbed two fistfuls of the uniform and clung on, trying to keep back the tears. "Please don't ask me, please don't make me say, please please…" he gabbled around his breath that refused to come.

It was painful and degrading and horrible, but it worked as nothing else might. Mustang had no defense against a begging Edward, and he gave in, and comforted him awkwardly, and assured him that they would find some solution to this mess.

He was too exhausted to feel very triumphant.

As the weeks passed, he realized how incomplete his impersonation was. On his own, he wouldn't have managed to convince them for more than a few days. Sure he was getting help, and those mental promptings did a lot to cement the persona, but he still could not become Edward. He wasn't so innocent, so jaded, so determined as Edward was. He was more self-centered, and had a greater tendency to answer inquiries with cutting remarks. More than anything, he could never care about people the way Edward did, though he was frightened when he noticed how much he was starting to care.

But despite the fact that he was not the Edward they knew, they did their best to accept him. They did their best to treat him the way they had the old Edward, and to love him the way they had the old Edward.

The thought that their precious Edward was dead never occurred to them.

When he was feeling particularly angry, he would amuse himself with imagining their faces when he told them how he had killed their Fullmetal. Oh, he would describe it beautifully, give them every detail, down to the last drop of blood.

He didn't like it when he thought those things, but he also didn't punish him for them. He refused to admit to anyone, least of all himself, that he probably would never tell them what had happened. He didn't want to dwell on the fact that as time went by, he found himself rather enjoying Edward's life.
Even he got tired of fighting the inevitable. If he was going to live it, he might as well enjoy what it had to offer.

The caring, though, was completely alien to him. At first he secretly scoffed at the idea, but soon he began wondering whether he wasn't missing out on something. He couldn't forget the feeling of peace and belonging he had first felt when he came back to the base. More and more he found himself drawing on Edward's wellspring of caring, and soon it became easier. He didn't even notice when he was loving on his own, and no longer just channeling the other's feelings.

Edward watched his life being lived. He had decided long ago not to be a back-seat driver, and let things run their course as much as they could. After all, it was no longer him living it; he never would live again.

He watched as the people around him accepted his surrogate, comforted him from the aftereffects of the unhappiness he himself broadcasted, and grew used to his differences.

He tried to tell himself he was happy. He wanted them to accept the new him, it was the only way Al would ever get restored. He told himself that it didn't hurt to see them all happy, when he was locked away, all alone.

He tried very hard not to be selfish.

He muffled his unhappiness as much as he could; he didn't want to be a bother anymore than he already was; he knew the other's tolerance level for sadness was rather low. He didn't want anyone to find out how self-centered he was.

It was wrong of him, so terribly wrong, to wish he was buried near his mother, and not in the middle of nowhere in a nearly-unmarked grave, especially when he was forcing his killer to do so much already.

But he couldn't hide his sadness completely, and finally his thoughts were picked up on.

You're such a little hypocrite! Believe me, if I could, I would kill you all over again! First you drive me insane to force me to do what you want, and now you're unhappy because it's working?

He flinched, but didn't answer. He couldn't stop the other from reading his feelings, though. He was unbearably selfish. Some part of him had hoped that they would see through the disguise.

He thought they loved him. How could he be dead, and nobody was missing him? Shouldn't the world be somehow different, now that he was gone? Didn't he matter at all, just a tiny bit?

It wasn't that he wanted everyone to be sad. He was happy that they were happy. But why could somebody else so easily live his life for him, and they didn't notice that he was gone?

Dammit…the truth was prodded out of him, he did want them to be sad! He wanted to be missed, and he wanted a proper funeral, and maybe someone to say something good about him and write 'Beloved Brother' on his grave. He wanted somebody to cry that he was dead.

He tried to stop the tears, tried to swallow the sobs shaking him. But he couldn't hide his shame.

…poor, messed up kid.

He looked up in surprise. Regardless of the words, what he had felt behind them was honest compassion.

They do miss you. Ah, how can you possibly be so clueless? Well, I supposed it's harder for you to notice these things. Do you know how many times they look at me when they think I don't notice and wish for the old Edward back? And then they feel guilty, and try the harder to accept me.

They do?

Don't you understand, it's not me they care about! They only care because they think I'm you.

But that doesn't change…that I don't matter.

You're terribly dense, you know that? What do you think of what you did to me? Face it, you destroyed me, and took me for yourself. Think of how different things would be if you hadn't done that, if you weren't controlling me still.

I'm sorry…I'm sorry I'm doing this to you. I would much rather be alive and doing it myself. He was sorry, but that didn't mean he was going to stop. He couldn't afford to; it was the least he could do for Al.

…You're just as miserable as you make me, aren't you? The thought was rather surprised.

Edward smiled slightly.

Stop thinking that, I am not dumb. I just had a profound realization here. You should be more supportive.

He suddenly realized that this was an attempt to cheer him up. It was a good feeling. It didn't change his failure, or how much he missed everyone, but it still helped a little.

Even if it's my physical body doing it, when we restore Al, the credit will all be on your head. It's your achievement.

He allowed himself to hope.