Title: Written History
Author: vanillavinegar
Rating: K+
Summary: There's a room in the Elrics' house that belonged to Hohenheim.
Warnings: Implied spoilers for Hohenheim's backstory.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Hiromu Arakawa-san. The only profit I make from this work of fiction is my own satisfaction and, possibly, the enjoyment of others.
Author's Notes: This fic was written for prompt 133, 'study', at fma_fic_contest. Thanks to everyone for reading, and special thanks to GeneralGeneric, kasumin, Ricorum Scaevola, and Kristen Sharpe (twice!) for reviewing!

Write a review, get a response from the author – promise! :)

Hohenheim let himself be led through the house, eyes squeezed closed as Trisha – unsuccessfully trying to stifle giggles – pulled him along. "The more you amused you are, the more nervous I feel," he informed her.

He imagined her throwing her head back, hair falling around her face and catching the light, as she laughed aloud. "You'll love it, I promise." They continued on for a few more feet before she put a hand on his chest to halt him. She fussily turned and positioned him before pulling away. "Ta-dah!"

Uncertainly, he opened his eyes, and then he gasped. "Trisha," he said wonderingly. He was looking into a neatly arranged room; several empty bookcases lined the walls, and a desk sat right across from the door. After a moment of contemplation, he recognized the room as her formerly dusty and long-unused guestroom.

"It's yours, if you want it," Trisha said beside him. He turned his awestruck stare on her and she met his eyes evenly. "I'd like you to move in. You can keep all those books that're just taking up room in Pinako's basement here, and she can create that surgery she wants. And you can stay with me."

Hohenheim blinked. He hadn't found a good place to keep his books since he'd let go of that flat in Creta, seventy years ago now, but that thought was distant. "You want me to stay?" he asked instead.

She stepped forward, bringing her hands up to his shoulders. Her eyes never wavered from his. "Of course I do," she said.

The first time Trisha found the boys crawling around their father's study, she had thought little of it. They liked to explore, and Ed was too careful with books to damage anything. It was months later before she found out that they weren't simply playing in the room.

"Did your father teach you that?" she asked, examining the wooden bird and wondering how she was going to get striation marks out of the floor.

Ed's mouth puckered. "How can we learn something from someone who's never here?"

"We learned from those books," Al piped up before Trisha could do something about Ed's scowl. Her younger son gestured toward the pile that lay next to them. Trisha leaned forward to read the titles and felt her eyes widen. Before she had explained her lack of interest to him, Van had eagerly told her about his different alchemy texts, and she recognized those as some of the most difficult he owned.

"You two read those books? And understood them?" she couldn't help asking.

Al looked disheartened. Ed, doubtless the leader as he always was, turned a guilty frown on the floor. "Mostly. Did… did we do something wrong?"

"Not at all!" Trisha pushed down her surprise and smiled. "I'm going to tell everyone about this. I'm so proud!" She pulled her now-giggling sons to her, wishing more than ever for Van to return soon and see what they could do – and teach them what she could not.

Al couldn't find his brother. In the week since Mom's funeral, they had clung to one another, sleeping in the same room, neither letting the other out of his sight for longer than it took to go to the bathroom. But now, Ed had disappeared, and Al was nervous.

"Brother?" he called, wandering from the porch to the kitchen. He shivered as the screen door banged against the wall in a sudden gust of wind, and went back to close it more firmly. As he latched it, he heard another thud from the back of the house and a strangled voice shouting words he couldn't make out. Brother, he realized, instinctively running toward the sound.

"He didn't come!" his brother yelled, now comprehensible as Al rounded the corner to their father's study. He gaped as Ed picked up a book and tore at its pages before slamming it to the ground amidst a pile of others already ravaged. "Why didn't he—"

"Brother," Al breathed. Horror and sudden fear made his stomach clench when Ed whirled on him. His brother appeared crazed, hair wild and unkempt, face almost feral as he snarled at Al.

"What?" Ed snapped. "What?"

Al shrank back. Ed had been the one to teach him about treating books with respect, and he had never been scared of his brother. But Mom's death had turned the rest of the world topsy-turvy, so why should this be any different?

Ed stared at him for another minute, chest heaving as he panted, but slowly the ferocity faded from his features. He looked from Al to the ripped pages scattered around his feet and then back up. His eyes were as wide as Al's own. "Al," he said slowly, "I'm sorry. I didn't – didn't mean to…" He gulped helplessly.

Al took a small step in his direction, then another when Ed simply stood there, until he was close enough to leap into Ed's arms. "Don't do that again, Brother," he whispered. They were both trembling. "Please?"

"I won't, Al. I'm sorry." He continued to apologize as Al pulled him away from the ruined books and out of the study. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Brother," Al replied, even though it wasn't really at all. "It's okay."

THE END