I know, this took so long to finish. I hit a writer's wall (Oh, no. Not writer's block. An actual, ginormous wall) and every time I sat down and thought to myself, "Right! I'm gonna finish this!" I stared at it for about five minutes before I decided to watch Bottom instead.

Incoming angsty flashback! The last three paragraphs that aren't in Italics are present day.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, much as I'd like to. I think I'll just stick with owning a bad-tempered evil cat, since I can't draw to save my life.

-Six Months Ago-

Edward awoke with a start as a particularly heavy leather bound book slipped from the table, courtesy of his automail elbow, and hit the ground, creating a resounding thunk that earned him several disdainful glances from the building's other occupants. Ignoring them completely, he stooped down to retrieve the unhelpful tome, and tossed it lazily onto the dangerously teetering pile in front of him.

A quick glance to his pocket watch (and the tiniest of winces, as he always did when he caught a glimpse of the engraving, done by his own hand) informed him that the hour was late, or early, depending on which way you looked at it: 2:27am, to be exact. He sighed heavily, his amber eyes flicking to the books in annoyance. He had returned from his latest futile attempt at locating the Philosopher's Stone months ago, and ever since, he had spent his every waking hour here, desperately searching for something, anything that could lead him to the whereabouts of the mythological object.

Groaning to himself, he viciously rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. There had to be something that he was missing, something so simple that his mind simply would not allow it to even be contemplated. His head hit the desk with another (hollow, he noted miserably) thunk. Perhaps he was just incompetent. After all, how could he possibly be a prodigy when he couldn't even decipher how to return his own brother to his rightful body?

"Um...Mr. Elric?"

Grunting in some frustrated response, he glanced up, and found the librarian, Scieszka, standing at the foot of the desk he was occupying, uncomfortably tugging at the arms of her spectacles. Instead of questioning, he simply arched an annoyed eyebrow, as though to request that she said what she had come to say, and left, preferably quickly.

Apparently sensing this message, she flushed a deep scarlet. "Mr. Elric," she repeated. "I'm afraid the library is closed. Well, actually, it closed hours ago, but you were asleep so I thought I'd..." she trailed off helplessly as she realized the blond was simply staring at her, his chin resting on his palm, and expression of faint amusement. She flushed again. "Well...you can...see yourself out."

With haste that only fear could invoke in her, she turned abruptly on her heel and had vanished from sight within seconds. Sighing in desperation, Edward got to his feet, and somehow managed to hold the vast amount of books in his arms with ease that surprised even himself. He replaced them on their respective shelves, before shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his scarlet coat, and vacating the premises.

His feet had barely touched the cool stone of the steps leading up to the enormous building when he felt the cruel wind against his body. The pressure of it was almost enough to force him back into the wall, but he grit his teeth and simply continued his path. In his head, he began one of his famous short rants, directed at the wind, itself, interspersed with curses that usually earned a disdainful sigh of, "Brother!" when spoken aloud.

He grimaced as the familiar sensation that his pupils were aflame approached him, though he refused to alter his pace because of something so insignificant. Instead, he simply averted his gaze from the cruel hue of any street lamps that he happened to pass, and kept to the back streets as often as possible.

He did not fear the dangers that lurked in the shadows, awaiting their latest prey. In fact, he almost longed for a confrontation with someone moronic enough to attack the Fullmetal Alchemist. The irritation from another useless night of searching was perfectly evident in his expression, and he couldn't think of a more enjoyable method of releasing his fury.

He glanced up slightly so as to decipher his whereabouts, and his entire body went rigid. Unbeknownst to him, his uneven gait had directed him to his alleyway, though he was not alone in his unconscious longing for isolation. Standing several feet from him was a figure, clad in the standard issue State Military uniform, though his face was hidden by shadow. Despite this, Edward knew that he was looking directly at him, as he shivered beneath the piercing gaze. Something about it made him want to start running, but his feet refused to respond, and he simply remained stationary.

He flinched as he felt a cruel smirk twisting the figure's lips, and the voice that followed it chilled his insides, invoking another shiver, though he managed to control himself, most likely out of pride.

"Edward Elric. What're you doing out so late?"

He swallowed hard as the figure turned his head, and he caught his first glimpse of cold, crystal eyes, that had never once failed to intimidate him. His eyebrows were raised in amusement, and his smirk had not faltered. Edward had to endure a vicious mental battle to prevent himself from backing away, as he knew it would only anger him.

He rested a hand on his hip, affecting the arrogance that had once come so easy to him. "I could say the same for you. Aren't you supposed to be working?"

The truth was (Though he would take it to his grave, of course) Edward was afraid. He had faced enemies of unspeakable horror during his quest for the Philosopher's Stone, but nothing compared to the damage Frank Archer had inflicted upon him, even when he had only recently received his certification. When he was nothing more than a child.

He had first found himself crumpled halfway down this same alleyway the day he had been attacked by Barry the Chopper, when any defense he had once possessed had been truly shattered. That was also the night when he was first introduced to Lieutenant Colonel Archer. He had never quite forgotten the occasion, and still awoke screaming from painful recollections, much to the concern of his brother.

Since that night, his usual insolence was feigned, and Edward became much more hostile, for fear of anybody daring to look deep within him and discovering that particular skeleton in his closet, which he had attempted so desperately to lock away. His mental stability slipping, he couldn't even protest when Frank decided he wasn't yet finished with him.

Frank's smirk broadened. "When I have much more important business here, how could I?"

Edward tightly clenched his fists in his pockets to prevent them from shaking. "And, uh...what might that be?"

"I think you know."

He knew. Even if he had been ignorant of the Colonel's intentions, it certainly became clear when a pair of hands found his shoulders, gripping them with exactly the amount of pressure to earn a wince, and forcing him to step backwards until his back hit the opposite wall. Frank furrowed his brow in annoyance. The blond had gradually become more docile towards him over the years, there had even been a period of time when he couldn't even manage to meet his gaze.

Edward was looking at him now. His eyes were hollow, completely devoid of the fire that had once offered the taller figure so much amusement. He glanced down at the hands that held him in place, before meeting those glacial eyes once again, with emotion that resembled faint intrigue. This routine was familiar. Once Frank was satisfied, he would throw him to the ground and leave him there to wallow in his misery until the next round. He just wanted this to be over.

Frank sighed, drawing his index finger across the child's cheekbone. "What happened to you, Edward? You were so much better when you at least responded."

Expression not altering in the slightest, Edward said softly, "You did."

The Colonel's eyes flickered with momentary rage, and he drew back his hand, slapping him hard with one quick flick of his wrist. Edward blinked as his mind registered the dull sensation of pain, though he refused to allow himself to react. Instead, he simply turned his head, and met Frank's gaze once again.

Frank traced the area of flesh that burned scarlet with rarely seen compassion, his fingertips barely grazing skin, as though to avoid causing any further pain. Edward was not fooled. All he was doing was luring him into a false sense of security in the hope of a response, when he could finally resist the tortured child no longer.

"Stay calm," his mind ordered frantically. "It'll be over soon, just like it always is. All you have to do is stay calm. Don't let him win. Don't let him see that he's hurting you. Just-"

Rational thought escaped him as the Colonel stooped down, and crashed his lips to his with his usual ferocity. Immediately, Edward forced his body to fall limp, and he tightly closed his eyes to hide his revulsion. He felt a hand entangling itself in his hair, whilst the other dropped to his waist, absently caressing his hip, which jutted through his flesh in a manner that looked extremely painful.

A second later, Edward felt concrete against his already bruised cheek as he was thrown bodily to the ground, and crumpled there, unmoving. His limbs were twisted uncomfortably beneath his body, but he held the position, unwilling to give the Colonel the satisfaction of seeing him respond.

A sharp kick to his side forced him to roll over onto his back, and he gazed up through half open eyes at the figure towering above him. Under normal circumstances, this would have already been over. Why was he prolonging the experience? The question felt needless even within his mind. Frank Archer thrived on the knowledge that he was in control, that he could manipulate and dominate anybody he saw fit. This was just a game to him.

His breath escaped him as the taller figure seated himself quite comfortably on his chest, seemingly perfectly aware that he was crushing the child's ribcage, as the smirk never once left his lips. Suddenly lacking in oxygen, Edward choked, and regretted it instantly as the smirk broadened.

Frank stooped down to kiss him once again, and his fingers delicately traced the flesh of his muscular stomach, before dropping to the cool metal of his belt. He smirked slightly against the child's lips as he felt him tense beneath him. No matter how frantically he attempted to deny how much he was affected by what Frank inflicted upon him, his body always failed him.

He sighed softly, and sharply unbuckled his belt, causing the entirety of the lower half of his body to jolt, and his pupils dilated slightly as the familiar apprehension took up residence in the pit of his stomach, despite his futile attempt at disguising it.

"It's been too long, Edward." murmured Frank, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his leather pants, and dragging them down his thighs painfully, purposefully, slowly.

Unsurprisingly, Edward did not share this notion, though he didn't dare voice it. Instead, he forced the anger and pain to the back of his mind, as he always seemed to do these days, and stared blankly into the Colonel's cruel, merciless pupils, not failing to notice that they were clouded by lust that made him sick to his stomach.

Frank's hands had barely grazed his boxers when both of them started at a sudden annoyed slur that could have been a curse, and the distinct thump of someone stumbling from the sidewalk. He glanced up sharply, the blond in his possession momentarily forgotten, and a moment later he was on his feet, absently brushing the dirt from his pants as though nothing had happened.

"I'll meet you at the warehouse," he said, his tone cold as ever, though still somehow containing a threatening hint. "Don't make me come find you."

Edward had only to blink, and his tormentor had disappeared as though he was never there at all. He remained in his awkward sprawled position for almost a full minute, before coming to his senses, and managing to connect the concept of returning his pants to their normal position with his poor mind. Clawing at the ground, he found the wall closest to him, and pressed his back against it, hissing quietly as the soothing damp seeped through his coat and eased the burning of his flesh.

The uneven footsteps were growing louder as the unwelcome figure approached, though Edward kept his gaze upon the ground, almost ashamedly. He knew perfectly well that he was pallid, except for the bruises that littered his entire body, and his bloodshot eyes were threatening to pour with tears any moment. He couldn't handle someone else seeing how weak and fragile he really was.

He silently begged this intruder to pass him by, to ignore the depths of the alleyway that had once been comforting to him, but the footsteps grew louder still, and he caught his first glimpse of the figure out of the corner of his eye. He had to viciously fight with his body to prevent himself from flinching as his mind registered the all too familiar State Military uniform.

The soldier staggered towards him, and with some difficulty, maneuvered around his splayed limbs. Once he found himself on the other side of both the automail and the flesh, he collapsed ungracefully into a seated position, grinning proudly to himself.

Edward had suspected the identity of the figure the instant he caught sight of him staggering drunkenly towards him, and was left in no doubt as those glazed onyx eyes fixed themselves upon him, scrutinizing him, almost judging him, the less rational side of his brain accused. Relishing this rare bout of true anger, the child silently cursed Colonel Roy Mustang, and not for the first time in his life. What right did he even have to be here? The longer he kept Frank waiting, the more he defied him, the worse his punishment would be. He needed this to be over.

Roy seemed to sense the darkness in his eyes, as his eyebrows raised slightly, and he managed to force out a, surprisingly coherent in his state, "What'cha...doin' here, Fullmetal?"

Edward had almost laughed as the obviously intoxicated Colonel referred to him by the title he loathed. The rage he had been holding back for months had no difficulty escaping him in his presence, and for that moment, he was free. He was that child again, the one he believed to have long since faded at Frank Archer's hand.

He paid dearly for it, of course. Now that fleeting moment of unfathomable fury had passed, he sat, thankfully alone, on the cold ground of the warehouse he had no choice but to claim as his own, his heart aching with regret. If only. If only he had been as docile towards Roy as he had grown accustomed to being with Frank, he would still have his certification. He would still have his brother.

In the depths of the alleyway that now plagued his dreams, he had made his choice. Now all he had for comfort was the knowledge that the wounds would heal, the pure white scars that covered his pallid flesh would eventually fade, and each night, when his merciless tormentor was finally finished with him, there was nobody to see his tears.