Having been without my kitchen since May, it is now very weird to walk out there and see cabinets and counter tops. Granted I still don't have my appliances reinstalled, but hopefully they'll finish everything next week. I want to bake so badly. For all the ladies, you'll all understand how badly I want to bake when I tell you I have now gone through four months of "time of the month" without being able to make brownies. I am fairly sure this qualifies as some form of torture.
In other news, I have been kept busy by the dog I rescued. Now I have two, dear Gate, my cat may never forgive me. But I wasn't about to leave him lying in the ditch I found him in hours away from kidney and liver failure. Not microchipped and no ID, so finders keepers, and now I have a German Sherpei. He's doing amazingly better now and is a puppy in a five-year-old dog's body. My furniture is doomed.
Anyway, I shall leave you all to it.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Mid-day found Edward finally leaving the bedroom.
In the kitchen he set the dirtied soup bowl and spoon in the sink for washing later, and then went to check on Hazel once again. The squirrel was no longer in the cracker box, nor was anything else, for that matter. So with some trepidation, but hoping that the rodent had just overstuffed himself and tired, Edward went on a search for him.
After several minutes of floating through the walls to search, he found the fluffy terror curled up on top of the bin that held the squirrel's toys.
"You'll need exercise to work off those crackers," Edward agreed over the sleeping squirrel's body, before adding hesitantly. "Roy's going to be okay, so don't you worry."
He was floating back out towards the kitchen when he heard the knock on the door.
Instantly his guard went up.
The only people he might expect to be at the door for any good reason at all likely either already had a key, or knew that Roy wasn't in any condition to be opening doors.
Edward darted a sharp look towards where he knew the bedroom lay as a second knock sounded. Without a second thought to it, he floated over to the knife block, pulling free the slim utility knife. The idea that he was jumping to conclusions didn't cross his mind, all he knew was that Roy was in no condition to be fighting – though he suspected the man would anyway. And when Roy still had enemies as dangerous as Grand and the Fuhrer out there alive, he wasn't taking any chances.
With the knife firmly in hand, Edward darted at nearly his fastest speed towards the door only to abruptly stop. There was no sense in flying through the door armed with a knife only to scare a bunch of schoolchildren, if this was something just as innocent. Instead, he poked his head through the front door.
Only to curse vividly and yank himself back.
Muttering angrily under his breath he stalked back to the kitchen to replace the knife with an enthusiastic slam before returning to the door.
Edward unlocked it and wrenched it open with a scowl the man on the other side couldn't see.
"Hello, Edward." Hohenheim congenially greeted the emptiness beyond the open door.
Edward scowled at him, crossing his arms over his chest and tapping one foot against the floor irritably.
Hohenheim shifted marginally, "may I come in then?" He broached, before holding out a second, smaller suitcase. "I brought you something you might find useful."
Edward let his gaze drop to the indicated suitcase. "Little too late to be buying my love, daddy." He snipped before taking the door in hand and slamming it shut only as loudly as he dared.
He didn't want to wake Roy, after all.
"How the fuck did he even find us?" Edward snarled, before realizing with an unhappy groan that it was likely very easy for someone of his father's intelligence to look up addresses of State Alchemists. He was about to turn away to go back upstairs when his father's voice called through the wood.
"I know what happened yesterday!"
Edward paused in midair, before slowly his head turned and he was looking upon the front door once more. His gaze drifted away a moment, contemplation shadowing his gaze and narrowing his eyes before he let out a small sigh. Turning back around for the door he eased it open once again.
"Thanks." And none of the heavy gratitude in the one word was faked, and Hohenheim tipped off his hat before crossing the threshold into the house.
With no other indication than normal, polite manners in someone else's home to guide him, Hohenheim made his way into the living room as the front door closed once more and the bolt clicked. He took only a cursory glance around to briefly familiarize himself with the surroundings before setting his suitcases on the ground and placing his hat on the coffee table before taking a seat at the couch.
Yet he didn't remain still for long.
Edward floated into the living room just as his father reached for the previously indicated suitcase. He watched, still hovering on the edge of uncertainty as to whether or not to wake Roy and tell him his father was here in the house, when the man in question reached into the open suitcase and pulled out a typewriter, setting it on the coffee table with its sheaf of papers and giving a hopeful glance around at the air of his general direction.
"I thought it might make it quicker for you this way? If I thought wrong you don't have to use it. I have pens too… somewhere." Hohenheim quickly began patting at his pockets.
Edward snorted, and giving a shake of his head floated down and picked up one of the papers to guide it into the typewriter while trying not to feel warmed by the gesture of the thoughtful gift, or the relief on his father's face. "Don't look too pleased," he muttered as he wound the paper into position, "I'm going to use it to cave your skull in afterwards, see if you're immortal from that. Roy can burn the body if it works."
Hohenheim, having no idea of the threatening mutters being made, could only watch raptly as the keys began to press down with heavy snicks of noise.
"There." Edward determined he was done typing for the moment, and turned the machine so that his father could read the words now printed upon the paper he'd scrolled upwards with several keystrokes: 'Roy's asleep, but he's not the one you should be afraid of in this house. Philosopher's Stone or not.'
Hohenheim tried not to smile as he read, and he coughed once to try and tamp down the urge. "I'm not here to make trouble. If you tell me to go, I'll go."
'You don't need my permission, if I remember correctly. You just up and leave whenever it's convenient to you.' Edward typed back scathingly, having shifted where he sat so that his father could read as he typed.
Hohenheim's humor vanished instantly, and his expression fell with a sigh as he clasped his hands together. "I won't try and make you understand why I've done the things I have. I know we'll never see it the same way, and I've made my peace with that. But the last time I left you, I did it expressly for you."
Edward found himself taken aback, more startled and confused than angry. Yet when his fingers found the keys once more, he expected his father had predicted his reaction when his reply was immediately forthcoming.
"I went to speak to the Gate about your – " Hohenheim paused a moment to search for the right word, recalling how Roy hadn't appreciated him referring to Edward as unnatural, " – existence."
Edward found himself too stunned to do, or type, anything. All he could manage was to stare slack-jawed at his father. He'd gone to speak to the Gate?!
Hohenheim had paused again, this time searching for a diplomatic way to put how the encounter had gone. "It did not go well." And while such words hardly sufficed given what he'd just revealed, it rather encompassed the entire meeting. "As far as it's concerned, you're this way because you're my son. From what little else I did get it to say on the matter I am fairly certain that my original ideas about how you ended up this way were correct; you had to have had some sort of residual protection in your blood from what I am."
Edward supposed that it really could make sense. Yet the thought of being angry with his father for it had left his mind almost as soon as it entered. Because although the years immediately following his death had been wrought with loneliness and strings of depression, every moment since Roy had come into his afterlife had washed that loneliness away. It was also the reason he'd never alluded to Roy that what his father had told him hadn't been entirely the truth.
"As to why only Roy can see or hear you?" Hohenheim spread his hands apologetically. "It seemed to find that the funniest part of all during our chat." And honestly, the memory of all those moments the Gate had begun to laugh still chilled him, but he tried to ignore it. "So you see? I left that last time because you were in good hands, you still are with Roy, and I wasn't about to risk either of you trying to come along with me for such a visit – or see how to make the journey."
"Like I'd ever willingly lay eyes on that monstrosity again." Edward muttered angrily, then typed as much.
"For the best." Hohenheim couldn't help but approve. "Given how entertaining it finds you."
Edward shuddered at the words, at the thought of being entertaining to the very thing that had ripped him apart.
"I was attempting to close in on a certain figurative ghost of my own past, you remember I mentioned before?" Hohenheim paused, but did not wait for a response as he forged ahead, "when yesterday afternoon your State Alchemist caused quite a disturbance."
Edward was typing before he'd even fully formed the question in his mind, his brows knit together in confusion. 'How do you even know it was him?'
"I didn't, not at first. But when reports of firestorms in city parks start becoming rumor, and the entire city traffic system is suddenly shut down, there's only one alchemist I think of when I think of such chaos. Roy Mustang is a cunning, ambitious man with a frightening talent at his chosen alchemy." Hohenheim explained. "But I wouldn't have paid it any mind had I not felt what I did when I assume the battle was ongoing."
'What do you mean, you felt?' Edward quickly typed.
Hohenheim gave a small, sad quirk of his lips and raised a hand to tap at his chest with a solemn expression. "The ones in here, the souls, the stone, they felt the power that was used yesterday."
Edward hadn't realized, hadn't even considered that philosopher stones would call to each other in any way. Upon knowing that now… he had to admit it gave him a bit of sadness that he couldn't altogether define.
"Want to tell me what happened?" Hohenheim pressed, even as he found himself beginning to relax a fraction. Even as a little thrill sparked inside him to finally be saying words a father should say to his son.
Edward considered his father silently, unmoving, for several long moments before he felt the protective walls he had about Roy loosen. He may not ever forgive his father for abandoning them, whatever the reasons, but he was also not stupid. His father wasn't viewed as the best alchemist alive for no reason, and the man was incredibly smart. Perhaps he could be of some assistance, though he wasn't sure what or how.
Nevertheless, Edward began to type a paraphrased version of the events of yesterday.
Hohenheim waited patiently as the typewriter began working on its own once more, well, to his own perception at least. This time he didn't read the words as they were typed, instead taking this moment to cast a second, more thorough gaze around this part of the house. Everything he saw on the bookcases he would expect to find in an alchemist's home, advanced texts and leather-bound journals that were doubtlessly Roy's own research; and while his fingers itched to take one up in curiosity, he suspected that if he tried he might end up with a new set of bruises. So he forced himself to look around at the rest of what he could see, and what he did see only reassured him that Edward had ended up in the home of a man who was able to provide well for himself.
"Hey, abandoner," Edward scowled as he turned after typing to realize his father was just staring around the room curiously. It took him all of a moment to grab another piece of paper, fashion it into a hang glider, and pelt it at his father.
Hohenheim blinked and caught the paper before it fell to his knees, and turning back to the air just in front of the typewriter he offered an apologetic smile. "You have a nice home here." And as he began to read he saw the words 'some of the glass sculptures Roy made for me' type out at the bottom of his current paragraph, and a warm smile crept across his lips.
He'd seen those glass sculptures in that locked case, and upon entering the room he'd seen the one of a pony too large to fit into the case, and to now realize that Roy had made them all, and some specifically for his son… in this house Edward was treated as if he was still a living person.
Edward watched as his father read through what he'd typed up, idly agreeing that his father was right. He did have a nice home. Here, with Roy, and Hazel of course. It was more than he ever would have guessed he'd receive in his afterlife… and really, it was more than he'd ever dreamed for himself before his death. He'd grown up thinking he'd stay in Risembool all his life, not once had he ever dreamed he'd end up as he was now, doing the things he was.
"Mustang is making a nuisance of himself then, to the Fuhrer." Hohenheim mused as he rubbed at his chin with one hand and a contemplative expression. "Although I'm sure that's what he wants."
'Roy wants to be Fuhrer.' Edward added in agreement.
Hohenheim gave a slight smile and chuckle at the knowledge. "Doesn't surprise me he'd have that ambition. For what it's worth, I've been alive for centuries, seen many leaders rise and fall. I think, especially with you beside him, that he'd be one of the great ones." He brought his hands together then in a pensive gesture. "Yet the Fuhrer clearly knows the threat Roy has positioned himself as. Not unsurprising, given what Bradley is… but what does surprise me is the suddenly bold move of not only releasing Kimblee, but passing out fake philosopher stones to the participants."
Edward watched with a subtle frown as his father cast a frown towards where his hat lay.
"Wrath must be feeling outside pressure from Dwarf." Hohenheim mused, mostly to himself and his mouth pulled into a grim line. "That's not good news for me, it means he's either close, or getting impatient."
"What do you mean? Who's Dwarf? And Wrath?" Edward echoed worriedly, before remembering with a curse that his father couldn't hear him and quickly turning back to his new typewriter.
"Dwarf in the Flask Homunculus." Hohenheim explained with a low, regretful sigh. "I helped create him – albeit unknowingly. He gave me my name, taught me almost everything I know. With his help I was suddenly no longer just a slave. And then, he tricked us all. But he made certain I survived the massacre of Xerxes and became immortal in the process. He's who I've been hunting, who is nothing but a threat to, well, Alphonse now." And his expression fell even more at how the family he'd never believed he'd be privileged enough to have had come to this. He'd left to protect and safeguard them, to remove a building threat to them… and it wasn't even Homunculus who'd taken his wife and eldest son from the world. Yet he shoved those thoughts aside for the moment, refocusing himself with purpose. "You know Wrath as Fuhrer Bradley. I know him as a surprisingly tame blight on society. If you think he's dangerous, you don't want to meet any of the others."
'What are they getting close to?' Edward typed back after a few moments spent digesting everything he'd just learned, and knowing he'd need to remember it. These were things that Roy needed to know as well.
"You have enough to be concerned over without worrying about that." Hohenheim shook his head, straightening from how he'd slumped forward as he relived some of his past. "I can handle Homunculus, we've known each other a long time. You worry about Wrath – Bradley, and the Brigadier General. Roy needs to focus on his goals of removing Bradley, and he needs all his focus to be on that, and not who has really been pulling Wrath's strings. Amestris needs to fall into his control if it has any hope of surviving what it has been being brought towards."
Edward wasn't liking the sound of any of that. Just what was happening in this country? 'Roy just has to kill him enough times in succession?'
"Yes." Hohenheim reaffirmed, "easiest would be to locate his original bones, but Wrath has been a homunculus for an exceedingly long time now. I do not think that finding the bones would be easy, and Roy has enough skill to succeed the hard way. It still won't be easy for him, but he has the strength."
Edward had no doubt of that, he'd seen yesterday just what Roy could do when pushed to it. And he was hardly about to let Roy fight this fight alone either. Against the both of them, the Fuhrer was to fight a losing battle, but first, they had to remove Grand out of the way and the philosopher's stone the man was attempting to finish. And based on everything he'd learned, this stone wasn't going to be a fake – it was going to be a genuine finished product.
He shuddered to think of how the Fuhrer would use such a thing.
"How is he, by the way?" Hohenheim pressed then, concern filling his gaze, although not altogether for Roy Mustang. Despite the fact that his son wasn't supposed to exist, he'd slowly been coming to terms with the fact that Edward still did exist on some level, and he wasn't naïve enough to believe that his son and Roy hadn't become family in their own way.
Edward quickly typed out a rough analysis, before finding himself focusing on any sounds he might be able to hear from the bedroom, but the house was still peacefully quiet. Good. Roy needed to sleep.
"And the impure stones?" Hohenheim asked then, relieved of any concern that Roy was actually worse off than he'd previously imagined.
Edward actually had to pause to think back about that, a frown shadowing his face before he suddenly remembered. They were still in that box, and neither he, Roy, nor Maes, had bothered to move the box from where it had fallen in the shower. 'We have them.' Was all he put, uncertain just what his father was getting at.
"I know that." Hohenheim chuckled a bit, before motioning a hand back to indicate himself. "I can still feel them, but they are impure and unfinished products, so I can't pinpoint them."
'What do you want with them?' Edward's frown only grew.
"To destroy them." Hohenheim admitted without hesitation. "Specifically, the only way they can safely be destroyed, which is for me to absorb them. They won't do me any harm. If anything they'd affect me like caffeine until the potency wore off and they ceased to exist."
Edward tried to find a bad side to that, purely on principle, but he had to admit in the end that it made the most sense. And while he knew that Roy wanted nothing to do with them, he still hesitated at the fact that he didn't know what Roy intended to do with them, aside from likely wanting to keep them from falling into someone else's hands. "Fuck it." Edward finally decided, his expression becoming determined. 'I'll give them to you. I don't want them in the house with Roy. I don't like that look in his eyes when he thinks about the war.'
"I understand that," Hohenheim breathed out heavily, a lopsided smile overtaking his lips. "No one should be forced to be around something that makes them remember more painful times. Especially given his apparent abject aversion to ever using them again."
'Stay here.' Edward typed out, before giving his father a look that reprimanded any other course of action. Not that it could be seen, but it made him feel the better for it. And with that done he flew his way back up into the upstairs bathroom.
He wanted that evil he'd seen gone from this house. He wanted the evil that had aided Kimblee in hurting Roy gone from this house. There was no room for such things in the life they'd built together.
Kneeling on the shower floor in the darkened bathroom he picked the little wooden box back up. The side that had rested on the shower floor was still damp with water that stained the wood. But the distinct rattle of two objects inside let him know that both were still secure. Clenching the box in hand he floated out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom where instead of immediately making his way downstairs again, he went to hover at the bedside.
Roy was still fast asleep, and had Edward not known any better, he'd have thought that there was nothing wrong with him at all. His breathing was steady, his features calm in sleep, and his complexion didn't speak of a fever.
"Sleep well, and I'll be back up here with you just as soon as I kick him out of the house." Edward whispered over him, reaching out with his free hand to brush at Roy's face. "But while I can still get helpful information out of him, I'm going to. He's opening up a lot more to me without you there."
And turning from the bed, Edward hurriedly floated from the room to dart his way back down to where he'd left his father.
Hohenheim hadn't moved from the couch, he could sense that Edward's soul had gone elsewhere, but there was no telling when it would return and he wasn't exactly keen to anger his son. Yet when the disembodied box suddenly began floating his way, he did startle despite having sensed his son's soul return to the immediate area.
Edward lobbed the box at his father with a smirk.
Hohenheim deftly caught it, and easing the lid open he gazed down at the impure philosopher stones in bitter contemplation. "These are old… the ones from the war, I'd imagine." He spoke softly, and let his other hand come to rest on top of them, closing his eyes as he reached out to the energy he could feel with that part of him that was a true Philosopher's Stone. "Not much power left in either of them. Which means he's done testing."
Edward could only imagine that his father's last words meant nothing good, but before he could think to ask on it, the man was speaking again, this time in a low, regretful voice.
"You brave things." Hohenheim whispered as he took both impure stones in hand, already reaching out to the tattered, angry, and pained souls that screamed out at him. "I see… I see…" he murmured then as he listened to their cries. "He had no right, I know."
And then Edward was gasping as he watched his father press the stones against his chest, causing a flash of red and white light to burst outwards from the place where his hand pressed. But nearly as soon as it began, the light receded, and when his father drew his hand away, the stones were gone.
"It will be as close to peace as they'll be able to come." Hohenheim said with some regret. These had been crudely made stones, rushed in process, and hardly stable or the true item. They were surprisingly good forgeries, but forgeries nonetheless. Before they vanished entirely from existence, they would never know the peace that the souls of his immaculately perfect and true Stone had gained.
Yet even so, he could immediately feel the increased flow of power within him. To tell the truth, it was unsettling. But it was better to live with this feeling for a few weeks, than to leave the stones lying about to haunt a man who didn't deserve it.
Edward found himself feeling an emotion he never thought he would, as he hovered there in the air watching his father. "You really do regret what you've done. You actually care about those souls that were lost." And that, that startled him in a way that he hadn't expected.
Technically, all of this, this entire mess, was likely all because of something his father had done. And here the man was, centuries afterwards, still caring, and still attempting to fix it.
Hohenheim couldn't see his son, but for the first time since he'd entered this house, he felt the shift in Edward's soul. "I've always taken responsibility for my actions, for who I am and what I became, Edward. After all, responsibility was beaten into me rather solidly when I was only a slave and a number."
Edward couldn't help but flinch at the reminder. No matter how a person felt about their parents, it never settled well to know they'd once been a slave.
"But enough of that," Hohenheim decided with a thin smile, "I try not to think back to those days much. They were… unpleasant." And while that put it mildly, there were horrors in his past that he never wanted his sons to know.
Edward could only imagine, and he was more than willing to let the matter drop. He still bore anger against the man, but he wasn't cruel. Yet even as he moved to query as to any more information his father could give them about either Grand or the Fuhrer, he suddenly remembered something.
Something only his father would be able to help him with. Because for as many times as he'd tried to figure it out, the mystery still remained.
'Stay here.'
Hohenheim glanced at the words that typed across the paper, before feeling the soul of his son fade upwards past the ceiling once more. This time he didn't have to wait nearly as long before he felt Edward's soul returning, but when he saw what the ghost was returning with, his heart nearly stopped.
Edward took one look at his father's stunned expression and found himself smirking. Settling back down onto the floor in front of his typewriter he set the crystal object on the coffee table between them and began typing. 'Roy and I desecrated Xerxes a bit. We found this.'
Hohenheim felt only fainter of heart at the confession. "You desecrated – but of course you did." And he swore several words of a language he'd not spoken in centuries, passing a hand over his face. "Luckily for the both of you, there's not actually a curse on the land."
'I know what it is, it was in some of your old books, but I don't know how to make it work. Or how to make it at all.' Edward typed out for his father before glancing back at him. If anyone would know, it would be him. The man likely wouldn't have become such a skilled alchemist in the country without encountering and using these.
Hohenheim's expression grew pinched, and reaching out took the crystalline object with its pointed ends in hand. He hadn't thought he'd ever see one of these again, much less hold one. "Making the vessel is no more complicated than finding an object, the only reason these ever looked fancy was because the Masters insisted." And his expression briefly clouded with how he had felt about that. "It's the alchemy used on them that ever made them functional as storage devices for information."
'How do I access it to see what's inside?' Edward rapidly typed, his curiosity peaked.
Hohenheim twirled the crystal between his fingers before pointing one of the gleaming ends over his other palm. "You can't, I can. Little known fact anymore, but Xerxes was rather fond of any sort of alchemy to do with blood."
Edward realized what his father was about to do, but was too fascinated scientifically to even think of stopping him. So when his father stabbed the pointed end of the crystal down into his palm, opening a welling of blood, he barely flinched.
And as Hohenheim drew the crystal away, the skin was already knitting with a reddish-white glow.
The crystal, on the other hand, had somehow absorbed the blood with a sudden burst of white light.
"Bit showy, too." Hohenheim muttered, giving his previously wounded hand a light shake. He didn't have too many fond memories of how the alchemists had flaunted themselves back then. Their arrogance had only emboldened the King at the time – he honestly couldn't even remember his name – and that had only given Dwarf the opening he needed.
Edward hardly heard him, he was too busy staring wide-eyed at the crystal that now glowed with muted light in his father's hand.
"Now this one's crystal, of course, not obsidian. " Hohenheim set the crystal back onto the coffee table without much thought to the matter of what information it contained. "You'll need to take it outside, let moonlight shine through it, and it will enlarge the text that was engraved and hidden. Rotate it towards you to turn pages. If you ever find an obsidian one, have Roy prick himself and use sunlight instead. The different lights work as a magnifier. However the alchemy only lasts an hour for the retrieval process."
Edward knew his father wasn't too fond of anything relating to Xerxes, especially anything alchemy related, but he had to admit – it was a very clever piece of alchemy. And he typed as much to his father.
Hohenheim regarded the glowing crystal with a bit of a wry smile upon reading the words typed to him. "Yes. There is much I had wanted to teach you, show you… before I left. Homunculus went back to Xerxes at one point and destroyed all the ruins, to keep anyone from discovering any bit of the truth of what had happened to us. In doing so he buried or destroyed much of the alchemic work that had happened there. I thought that perhaps if I could at least teach my sons… but time has changed that too."
Edward didn't even offer the idea of Alphonse in this, and he was glad that his father hadn't either. In truth, he wasn't even sure he wanted his father to ever find Alphonse again. His brother finally had a chance at a new life, their father suddenly appearing back into that life would only be a setback.
"I can at least show you the arrays to prime and transfer information to the vessels if you want, not that it'll do you any good. But it might be good for you to teach Roy, given the chess board he's attempting to walk across and his aspirations for Fuhrer." Hohenheim decided and reached for one of the spare pieces of paper for the typewriter. "All things considered, it's a good method to conceal information."
He had to admit, his father had a point there, and Edward watched curiously as his father found a pen in one of his coat pockets and leaned forward to begin to sketch out the arrays. The movements of the pen across the paper were swift and steady, no hesitation despite likely never having even thought of the array for centuries.
"Remember, anything can be used, but it works best for retrieval if you use stones. Ones that have some sort of a shine to them initially for the reflective process." Hohenheim placed his pen back into his coat pocket.
Edward nodded unseen, already studying and dissecting the arrays to determine how and why it worked, and the nuances that governed the alchemy.
"But now that I know that Roy's going to be fine, and I've dealt with the matter of those stones," Hohenheim began even as he reached for his hat, "I should keep moving. He's here, somewhere, in Central, and if I stay in one place for too long I only risk him noticing."
Edward found he was actually startled by the declaration that his father was leaving, and startled all the more to realize he actually didn't like the idea, and not just because he hadn't gotten to inflict physical injury on him like he'd sworn after their last encounter. And the moment his fingers took to the typewriter keys, he suddenly understood at least part of his distress. 'So you only came to check on Roy and those fucking stones? I'm here too!'
"That's not – no." Hohenheim frowned, and gripping the brim of his hat a bit harder between both his hands, he cast his gaze down towards where he could sense the angry flare of Edward's soul. "I wouldn't have come to seek out Roy had you not been here. He's too high profile a man for me to risk it normally, but he's all you have now. I wanted to be sure that he was okay, so that I would know you would be."
"Oh…" Edward hadn't thought about it that way, already feeling inexplicably better as he let the words sink in.
"You are okay, aren't you?" Hohenheim's gaze suddenly narrowed in concern. He knew he still had his misgivings about Edward's existence as a ghost, but he was trying to work through them for the sake of the son he hadn't fully lost. He was trying to be a father, though he knew he wasn't good at it. He'd barely been there for Edward's childhood, and likely Alphonse didn't even remember him, but he was trying to make an effort – likely a mess of one. But he was trying.
Edward wasn't okay. He knew he wasn't. He'd told Roy as much. He wouldn't be okay until Roy was back to his usual self and activities. But while he'd admit to Roy these things, he was the only one. Even though in some deeper, hidden part of himself that still loved his father, he wanted to open up and spill all the things that he felt… the betrayal he still felt at his father abandoning them overrode everything else. And he didn't know, and didn't truly care if his father suspected he wasn't being truthful as he began to type once more.
Hohenheim nodded in satisfaction as confirmation of Edward's good health typed across the page – although he idly found himself wondering if 'health' was the proper term for the well being of a ghost. "No more encounters with the Fuhrer, then? With Wrath?"
"He's lucky he hasn't had." Edward growled under his breath. He'd been disappointingly short on encounters with the Fuhrer, because despite the pain it caused him, he was now finding himself wholly willing to bear that pain just to do what he could to get back at the homunculus Fuhrer for everything he'd done, and was still trying to do. However his reply was sans all that, settling for a simple 'no'.
"Good." Hohenheim wasn't entirely sure of the mechanics of being a ghost, but he did know that as a father, he didn't want his son in distress. "Stay with Roy as much as you can whenever the Fuhrer is around. You both seem to do well at protecting each other, and homunculi are no foe to underestimate."
"I'd like to see him try and leave me anywhere." Edward muttered darkly, thinking back to how Roy had threatened that he'd leave him at the office yesterday if he didn't hurry up and come along. What would have happened if he hadn't? No. He had never had intentions of leaving Roy's side, now or ever. That would hardly change.
"You recall I mentioned that I was closing in on my own target," Hohenheim continued musingly, "he's here in Central, somewhere. So I will be around, but I'll be staying on the move. I thought, given the past, you might like to know where I am."
In the past, before any of this had ever happened, Edward might have denied such a claim. But as he sat here now, he was beginning to realize he felt differently. How differently, he wasn't sure, yet that was something he could ruminate on once Roy was recovered.
Hohenheim's next words carried an undercurrent of the hesitation he felt in next saying, "I know that you and I may likely never have a good relationship again, but if you need me, or if Roy is in need, I'll do everything I can to be there for you. I didn't get a chance to tell you the last time, but I am here for you, Edward, if you want me to be there. I have no doubt that you would find a way to send a message to me that I would not mistake."
Edward snorted dismissively, yet the offer was already tucking itself into the recesses of his mind. He made no allusion to that, though, as his fingers took to the typewriter keys once again. 'Did you think to ask the Gate if it could do for me what you can't?' He knew his father would read between the lines. He was under no illusion that Roy wouldn't be interested in reading his half of this discussion, and this was a topic even now he still wanted to keep Roy from knowing.
Hohenheim bit against his upper lip as he read those words, and a tired breath left his body. There was no mistaking what his son meant, but he wished there was. "The Gate told me that becoming a ghost was of your own choosing. Though I've always known such a circumstance as yours to be impossible."
"But I didn't choose this!" Edward denied in a sudden, fervent outburst.
"It doesn't seem inclined to offer you any aid, it seems far more inclined to enjoy your situation with worrying amusement." Hohenheim continued on, unaware of his son's outburst, although he had sensed the flare of his soul.
Edward promptly typed exactly what the Gate could go do, and ignored the uncertain amusement that lit his father's features, as if his old man couldn't decide whether or not to approve of him using such language.
"Accept what you have with Roy, for as long as you have it, and put your other wish from your mind. His life will pass quicker than you think. You're potentially immortal, he is not." Hohenheim added, well aware that his words were hardly the gentlest or likely the most welcome, but he took his prerogative as a father – as much of one as he'd been able to be in Edward's time – to impart a dose of tough love to his son's thoughts. "Time passes differently for those of us with a potentially limitless lifespan; blink, and he'll be gone. You'll come to understand this one day, but accept it now."
"I refuse to believe I'd ever be without him." Edward countered softly, voicing words similar to what had already passed between he and Roy. "Otherwise what was the point of him being able to see me at all?"
Hohenheim's features pulled into a sad, but understanding expression when no answer was forthcoming on the typewriter. "Unless there's anything else you need, I really should be on my way."
Edward shook his head at his father, but not in answer, more in a display of disappointment as his fingers found the typewriter keys once more. 'If I did somehow choose to be this way, I'll take my chances that I didn't meet Roy just to have him be gone from me forever one day.'
"I hope you're right." Hohenheim replied honestly. From what little information and time he'd been able to gather, suspicions had no place, he knew his son was attached to Roy Mustang. He'd hate to see his son forced to live out an even lonelier existence than he himself was living, because at least he could be seen by and talk to other people.
'I will be. You're not the only smart one in the family.' Edward typed back with adamant confidence.
A laugh huffed from Hohenheim, and he found himself smiling in his agreement, and more than a little pride. But it was the warmth he felt from the mention of them being family that lit his smile most of all, even though he was sure it was likely unintentional on his son's part. "No. No, I'm not." And anything more on the matter he would have said, he felt would only anger his son, so he kept those thoughts to himself. Instead he reached for his suitcase, ignoring the one that had once held the typewriter. "I should go. The typewriter is yours to keep."
Edward watched as his father stood up, and glanced down at the typewriter with a slight quirk to his lips. It might come in handy for Maes, now that the secret was out to him. Riza too, he had a feeling – or it soon would be.
"Stay safe, Ed." Hohenheim continued as he turned for the door, "I'm sure we'll run into each other again."
Of that, Edward was beginning to have little doubt. The afterlife he'd chosen beside Roy had begun to run parallel to his father's own goals. What he couldn't quite decide was how he felt about that. There was anger towards his father, yes, and he suspected that there always would be, but much like how he'd felt in the alleyway when he'd first encountered the man again, there was that piece of him that still wanted to know his father loved him. That sought his love even after all the loss, and all the betrayal.
He supposed he should consider himself lucky that Roy was an alchemist and not a psychologist.
Casting a darkened look towards the coffee table, where the typewriter, a now empty wooden box, and a crystal lay still glowing with muted light, Edward closed his eyes briefly as he let out a slow breath. Then, he rose into the air and opening his eyes floated over to the front door, and as he hauled it open for his father, he told himself that the only reason his father was leaving unscathed was he didn't want to risk waking Roy from his healing rest, or get blood on the floor.
Hohenheim looked to where he could sense the vague impression of his son's soul and inclined his head in a nod and was about to step past the threshold when he hesitated and turned back to say one last thing, "for what it may be worth to you, I'm glad you're happy here, with him. That you have a home again, and a family."
"I wouldn't trade him for anything," Edward replied unheard in a fervent whisper, "but that doesn't mean I've never looked back and wished you'd stayed."
Hohenheim was forced to jump forward as the door suddenly swung at him, and narrowly avoided getting hit with it as it shut firmly behind him followed by the muffled sound of the deadbolt clicking into place. Letting out a worn breath he gave an experimental roll of his shoulders before gripping his suitcase a bit more firmly and stepping away from the house while tipping his hat back atop his head. He needed to get back to the city center and resume his search.
Inside the house Edward sank forward against the door with a bitter groan and a huff, and resting his forehead against the wood he closed his eyes as a wry smile twisted in the corner of his mouth. Roy was going to be properly annoyed that he'd missed Hohenheim stopping by.
Twisting away from the door he directed his gaze up towards where the bedroom lay, his smile becoming more easy, more true. And ignoring everything littering the coffee table, he made his way back up to their bedroom.
He found Roy exactly as he'd left him.
Edward twisted around in midair to alight onto his side of the bed, settling himself carefully so as to not jostle the bed overmuch. The book he'd been reading made it back into his hands, yet he didn't continue right away, instead cradling it between his hands as he frowned down at the covers of their bed. "And to think my afterlife used to be boring." He muttered to himself with dark amusement, his lips quirking in his humor.
Giving a slight shake of his head, he let it fall back against the headboard as he closed his eyes, reflecting on everything that had just gone on and what all of it was about to mean for he and Roy.