A/N: I'm battling a rather wicked virus at the moment, but I didn't want it to disrupt the update schedule too terribly much. So enjoy, and blame any incoherency on the medication! Thanks again to my amazing reviewers/readers. You guys have been absolutely great, and I offer up my gratitude on a silver platter. Much love to all of you!

I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist; this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Because He'd Never Ask

Almost more than anything in the world, Edward Elric hated when his little brother was unhappy. Even worse, he hated when his little brother was unhappy, and there was no foreseeable way for him to fix it. He was the older sibling after all, and it was his job to make sure that his only remaining family member stayed as safe and un-sad as possible. But there was nothing he could do; he'd known that from the moment his feet had hit the floor that morning. There wasn't an ass to kick, or a favor to fulfill, or any amount of soft words that he could offer to make Al feel better today.

The phone call from Winry and Pinako back in Resimbool had cheered Al up a little. But it wasn't enough, not nearly. It shouldn't have been possible for such an impassive face to radiate such sadness, but somehow, Al pulled it off. And what was worse was that he was trying to hide it, to shield his older brother from his heartbreak. It ripped Ed up inside.

He'd been dreading this day all week. They'd been searching for the Philosopher's Stone for three frustrating, fruitless years, and this day got steadily worse every time it rolled around and revealed their still-empty hands. During the week leading up to it, Al's giant shoulders rounded little by little, and by the time zero hour arrived, he was all but folded into himself. And still he offered reassurances, and smiles via his voice.

Very few things brought Edward so close to tears. But this circumstance did, every year, and he couldn't let his little brother see that either. Amazing person that he was, Al would probably blame himself for the frustration brimming wetly in his brother's eyes, and Ed wasn't sure the guilt hovering around his heart could take the extra weight.

To top it all off, Mustang had phoned their room around eleven, requesting Ed's presence in exactly one hour. Stupid, obnoxious idiot. He knew everything; he had to have some idea as to what today meant for the both of them. Couldn't he leave them to wallow in their own various miseries in peace? As if Ed needed another reason to hate the bastard.

"Do you think the Colonel is sending you on another mission, Brother?" Al asked as they made their way to Mustang's office.

Oh, how Ed hated the false cheer in his brother's voice. Apologies choked him, crumbling in his mouth like ashes. He wanted to break under the weight of them, to scream them for the world to hear until his voice was reduced to whispers.

"I hope not, Al," Ed returned. "After all, we just got back from the North a week ago. I was looking forward to some down time, so I could get some research done."

"Research. Is that…all you were planning to do today, Brother?"

The question fell heavy Ed's shoulders, almost dragging him to the floor. Try as he might to sound blasé, Al couldn't mask the soft edge of vulnerability and hurt in his voice.

"No," he said. "As soon as we're done talking to Colonel Bastard, we'll go do something fun, okay Al?"

Al ducked his metal head.

"It's all right, Brother. We don't have to do anything. I mean…it's not like today has any real significance."

Ed's fingers curled into tight fists and he squeezed his golden eyes shut. Desperately, he wished for an enemy, a target, something he could solve. When it came to tangible obstacles blocking the road to his brother's happiness, Ed had absolutely no problem ripping them apart. But this…this hopelessness. It was worse than any injury he'd ever sustained, and because he couldn't fight against it, infinitely more frustrating.

Al would never ask him to fight so hard. In fact, he'd be properly horrified if he knew just far his older brother was prepared to go to ensure his happiness. And that's exactly why Ed was so willing to walk the road to hell and back again for his brother's sake.

Because Al would never ask.

"Okay, let's get this over with." Ed mustered up a small snarl, because it was expected of him. "One crack about my height, and I'm transmuting the bastard into a pocket pistol."

"A pistol, Brother?"

"Well, at least Hawkeye will get some use out of him that way."

Al's laugh lacked its usual careless joy, but it still soothed some of the hurts Ed was harboring inside.

Ed took a moment to school his face into a small scowl, his default setting, before flinging open the door. Wallowing in his guilt was fine when he was on his own, but if the others saw it they might start asking questions, and Ed didn't want that for Al today. So he made sure that his entrance into the office was the typical bad-tempered stomp that he employed whenever Mustang ordered him into his presence.

For someone who so desperately sucked at deception, it really was an impressive bit of acting. Too bad that he ruined it by freezing like a winter lake after only three steps.

"Brother? Ed, what's wrong?"

Al followed Ed into the room, only to jerk to an exactly identical stop. The outer office was usually the very picture of military decorum, meaning that it was neat, clean, and lacked the personal touches of the people who spent so much time there. But today, it was covered in brightly colored streamers and balloons, and the officers with familiar faces were gathered under a giant banner bearing the most amazing slogan.

Happy Birthday, Alphonse

From the cloud of shock he was standing on, Ed heard his brother's voice hitch and then release on a gasping sort of sob.

"I…I…"

"I hope you didn't think we forgot, Alphonse," Hawkeye said, and her face was probably the softest Ed had ever seen it. For whatever reason, the sight of it brought him once again to that brink of almost-tears that he hardly ever walked. "In the past few years, you've always been away with Edward. But you're here now, and we thought we'd take advantage of the opportunity, and celebrate."

"But…it doesn't make sense to celebrate." Al's voice grew small. "I mean, it's not like…"

He trailed off, and Ed's shock was permeated by helpless rage once again. He took a step forward, prepared to protect his brother from the only adversaries he could actually see. But if they noticed his sudden defensive maneuver, they chose to ignore it.

"Aw, come on, Al," Breda said, slinging a friendly arm around Fuery's shoulders. "Everyone deserves a party on their birthday!"

"Yeah," Havoc agreed, smiling around the cigarette in his mouth. "Skipping the party won't make the getting older disappear, you know."

From where he hovered, half-leaning against the door frame to his office with his arms nonchalantly folded, Mustang smirked.

"We had to have the same conversation with the First Lieutenant last fall, when she snarled at the birthday cake we brought her." Mustang shook his head. "You'd think that such a battle hardened soldier wouldn't balk at something as trivial as turning thirty."

The sound of a gun being gently cocked filled the room.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I couldn't quite hear you. Would you care to repeat that?"

"Apparently not."

It was all so…normal. Beautifully, blissfully normal. A real birthday party for someone who had just spent the entire morning questioning just how real he could actually claim to be.

Gratitude fisted in Ed's throat, forming a lump as hard as his automail.

"Why don't you go and get your gifts, Alphonse?" Hawkeye suggested. "We stored them in the empty office down the hall."

If armor could have blushed, Al would have been fifty different shades of red by now.

"Gifts? For me?"

"Of course!" Breda proclaimed, leaping away from Fuery to give Al a companionable slap on the back. "What's a birthday party without presents?"

"Um…okay. Sure."

Ed watched his brother leave the room, obviously flustered, but also vibrating with the beginnings of joy.

'Thank you' wasn't a phrase that came easily, or often, to Edward's lips. Because of who he was, he was much more likely to offer someone sarcasm rather than gratitude. But there were some occasions when the words just couldn't be ignored.

But that didn't stop the phrase from feeling foreign on his tongue. So he ducked his head and hid his eyes before saying it.

"Thank you. Really." Ed's voice was soft, and painfully earnest in the suddenly quiet room. "Today is hard for Al. He stopped letting me, and Winry, and Granny celebrate it years ago." If anyone picked up on the soft break in Ed's voice, or the self-loathing coloring his words, they gracefully ignored it. "We don't know if…he's actually aging where he is, you see. And he said that it isn't right to have a party when he isn't really moving forward."

The silence in the room stretched on. When Hawkeye shattered it, she did so with firm words and a brisk tone of voice.

"Nonsense," she said. "Today is Alphonse's birthday. Therefore, we'll celebrate just like we would any other person's."

And there it was. That word, that title, the reason for the party streamers and the smiling faces. The thing Al needed to know he still was.

A person. Even after all the changes he'd gone through, still a person, in the end.

Alphonse returned with his gifts not long after. With every box he opened, Ed saw his brother relax just a little bit more into the normalcy of it. By the time Havoc got up on his desk to lead them all in a very loud, very off-key chorus of 'Happy Birthday', Al was standing straight again, and his laughter was uninhibited.

The weight on Ed's shoulders eased in direct correlation to the sudden upsurge in his brother's happiness, and the sudden lack of pressure left him reeling. He needed a quiet second to get his equilibrium back. So he ducked into the Colonel's office for a brief moment, and made his way to the window.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised when Mustang fell in at his side. The older man didn't speak, just folded his arms and leaned against the window frame, giving Ed his moment. The teenager took it, letting the late afternoon sun warm his face. Once his balance was restored, he spoke.

"He can't eat it," he said quietly, tapping the plate of cake in his hand, even though he knew such a point of discussion was unnecessary.

"No," Mustang agreed. "But he takes joy in watching you do the things he can't."

"So you got him a birthday cake, even though he can't really eat any."

Mustang's eyebrow rose as he turned to survey his subordinate.

"Is that a problem? I thought you were grateful."

Ed scowled, a faint flush rising to his cheeks at Mustang's mention of his vulnerable confession.

"Bastard," he spat, before softening. "I am. Today is hard for me too, because I can't make it what it should be, even though I'd give him anything he wanted if I could." Ed gave the pastry on his plate a poke. "But that's the way it should be. I'm his brother."

"And we're not," Mustang said, finishing Ed's unspoken thought. "So you're wondering why we would go to such trouble to make Alphonse happy."

Ed shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

For a while, Mustang didn't answer. He just leaned against the window and watched Ed contemplate the cake in his hand. Then he gave a shrug of his own.

"Because he'd never ask."

Ed's lips curved.

"No. He wouldn't."

And he took a bite. But the cake wasn't nearly as sweet as the sound of his brother's laughter, bouncing in loud and bright from the outer office.