It is the simplest of elements that influence them all.

Metal: Zinc
Genre: Who knows anymore, really.
Word Count: 1595
Setting: Rush Valley, sometime after chapter 56 which is currently the latest one out because March can't freaking come soon enough and BRING ME THE NEXT CHAPTER ARAKAWA-SENSEI!!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!! -.-() ::cries::

Sorry 'bout that. Anyway. THIS CHAPTER HAS SOME EDxWIN!! YAYYY!!! But it's about Al, because Al is … my future husband … I mean… awesome… Heh…

Oh wow, I can't believe I started this THAT long ago. That author's note is from years ago. Haha oh well. Anyway, on with the story!

Illness
Zinc

Edward was sick, though he wouldn't admit to it. At first, Alphonse had thought that Edward's stubbornness made him angry…

…Until Winry had found out.

Well, it couldn't be helped, he guessed. They had come, once again, to Rush Valley so that Edward could get his automail fixed. After duelling with Envy inside Gluttony's stomach, it had taken a pretty hard beating. And Edward and Alphonse had both gotten scraped up pretty badly while fighting Ling-turned-Greed, the sort-of-Hohenheim, and the homunculi. Then there was Scar, that strange cat-like animal, and the little Xing girl to think of… But Al didn't want to do that right now.

In all actuality, he didn't want to think about the fact that Edward was ill either… but the thoughts penetrated his mind anyway, as the shouting (or in Ed's case, wheezing) match between his brother and Winry forced itself to his ears - or rather, whatever enabled him to hear. There wasn't really anything he could do to escape paying witness to what appeared to be Ed and Winry's goals to best each other verbally. "I'M NOT SICK!" Edward would attempt to shout, which would only result in a new coughing or hacking fit emerging from his weak body. This would be followed by "YES, YOU ARE! NOW GET TO BED!" from the alternate blond who was participating in Al's brother/best friend's deranged yelling game. "What makes you think I'm sick?" Edward would retort to Winry, and then he would proceed to sneeze, or cough, or sniff, or make himself sit down as a result of dizziness, or make some other feeble attempt to rid himself of the mucus that clouded his sinuses. "THAT!" Winry would say, "NOW GET TO BED!" She would repeat again. "BUT I'M NOT SICK!" Edward would try to bellow back pitifully, and the whole argument would start itself up again.

And so, after many rounds of this, Al had seen Winry shove Ed into a bed with a red coverlet and white sheets. Edward had resisted, but Al couldn't help but wonder if he was resisting because he really didn't want to admit that he was sick, or because not admitting that he was sick put him in constant close proximity to Winry, who would push him back into bed once more. Every time she did, they would both go as red as the bedspread - although if asked the two probably would have said that either the redness wasn't present, or that it made its way on their visages simply from lack of air while shouting. Alphonse wondered if Winry would become sick too, either from yelling so much or from catching Ed's apparent cold. He worried for his friend just as he worried for his brother… but in a way, after choosing to semi-ally with Scar in their most recent fight, he wondered guiltily how much he really cared, and how far he was allowed to go in his worry.

His strange mixture of guilt and worry caused him to watch the debacle between Ed and Winry in relative silence, until he had finally heard enough and calmly said: "Brother, you are sick. Just go to bed and get better, and then you won't be sick any longer. You should listen to Winry."

"Thank you, Al." Winry had replied, sticking her nose up in the air. Ed had looked at her lividly before realising that his younger brother was right, as usual. Then he had lain against the fluffy pillows with a sigh, finally giving up the fight… at least for the time being. The fight between Edward and Winry never seemed to end, but as it was currently their only way of flirting, Al didn't mind so much. He wondered how long they would take before the fighting turned into… something else. (Then again, maybe he didn't want to wonder about that. Thinking about his brother and his friend that way was a little weird.)

Winry was good for him and his brother, amidst all the violence. Strangely enough, some sort of maternal instinct seemed to come out of her when Edward became sick. She brought him good food, copious amounts of orange juice, and her usual "I don't take no for an answer," attitude. "You better drink it all, Ed." She said, wrench in hand. Ed pouted to Al. "Um… At least it's not milk?" he added, shrugging. Winry waved the wrench closer to his face.

Suddenly, the orange juice began to disappear.

Al sighed in an amused fashion and left his brother to consume the plethora of tasty things Winry had brought. There was a plus factor to being made of metal, in the sense that he didn't have to worry about basic human needs like eating or taking showers. (Although in the case of showers, rain was a problem.) Still. Al would give almost anything to have a body – not that he had anything left to give, in a physical sense.

Stepping outside, he pretended to smell the fresh air. There were so many things he missed. He decided that, even given a poor condition comparable or worse than his brother's, he would rather have a body and be sick than not have one. Especially if Winry was going to do this baking thing every time someone caught a cold.

Mother used to do that, sans the threatening tools. "Drink your fluids!" she'd always say with a smile. Al remembered the times she had taken care of him while he was sick before; he allowed himself to indulge in the memory of her for a moment.

"Alfred! Time for lunch!" She said, walking into his room with a tray laden with soup and three different drinks.

"Bu-um, dat's dot by dame…" Al attempted to say through a very stuffy nose.

"Oh, I'm sorry Albert. I'll remember next time." She winked and put the tray down in front of him, sitting at the chair that had been by his bedside for as long as he could remember. She took out a funky looking straw from her apron and bent it for the poor little boy currently throwing what seemed like his thousandth tissue into the wastebasket.

He missed.

"Awww…" Al said and slammed himself back against the pillow. "That's okay, I'll get it in a minute. Now which drink should I put this into?" she asked him. "I dunno, I don't want anyding." His mother narrowed her eyes.

"How are you supposed to get better if you don't eat your cold away, dear? Now come on, choose a drink."

"Okay, but only if you stop callig me funny dames."

"Alright, Alan." She smiled wider.

"Hargh…" Al was frustrated. Lunch in bed would have seemed better if he didn't feel so… awful.

"How about… the red one?" She slipped the straw in.

"Okay…" Al said, giving up. He sipped some. It seemed like it might have tasted better before mucus had clouded his taste buds. He sighed.

His mother chuckled a bit. "Edward and Winry are making something for you to help you get well, but I think they won't be finished until well after you eat your lunch and sleep a little more. I have something else for you too."

Al looked at her quizzically over his glass as it was slowly depreciated of it's contents. He swallowed. "Whut?" he asked.

"Magic." His mother replied. She then pulled out a little white pill from her apron pocket. (This seemed to be the place for cool things, so maybe it was worth a try?)

"Whut's dat?" Al asked.

"Zinc!" she said emphatically. "Don't play around now, I need you to take this. Here."

She handed it to him and he gulped it down with the drink. It didn't taste like magic.

"Zinc is very good for you when you're sick. Your father always used to tell me how important it is." She cleared her throat and lowered her voice to start an uncanny – 'uncanny' meaning 'funny sounding' – impression. "Zinc is essential for all life, don't you know. "When you burn it, the leftovers look like snow. We call it 'philosopher's wool.' It's very important, without it we wouldn't be able to produce several types of alloys, etc etc." She finished dramatically.

"I don't like it."

She smiled wryly in return. "You might not like it, but you like being sick a whole lot less, don't you?" she asked. She was right.

"Yeah, I guess you're right…" She kissed his forehead.

"I love you, Alphonse. I'll come back for the tray in a few minutes and we can read a story too, okay?"

She got up to throw his tissue away, and as if on cue, a loud crashing sound was heard from downstairs. Yelling followed.

"They're only supposed to be finger-painting…" Al's mother remarked, confused at the kafuffle. She sighed. "Well, I'll be back in a little bit, okay? Eat up, now!"

"Okayyy…" Al said, grabbing a spoon.

She left the room, and his memory, with a smile. As always.

Thinking back, Al realised that that was the one thing Winry had forgotten. Zinc was indeed a very important metal. He walked out in the direction of the nearest convenience store, (or at least, the closest one he knew of), hoping they'd have those little white pills in stock. Winry could take care of Edward, but Al had to do something too, even if it was only to help a cold disappear. He was Al's brother, after all. Al would bring him some zinc.

…Maybe not the crazy straws, though.

End

Wahoo! Finally an update! Haha. It only took me... years. Nyeh. Hope you like!