Chapter Six: Christmas

"Joy to the world, the Lord is come! Let the earth receive her King; let every heart prepare-"

"Al, turn that off!"

"Wake up!"

I groaned and covered my face with a pillow. "No."

"Fine then. I'll open my present without you, then."

I sighed, rolled my eyes, and got out of bed. Still in my nightshirt, I trudged out into the small living room. "Tea?" said Al, offering me a cup. I took it and glowered at him.

"What time is it?" I asked him.

"Almost noon."

"What? How is that possible?"

He shrugged. "Let's open presents!"

He sounded genuinely excited. I rolled my eyes again. "Fine." He picked up his present gently, being very careful with it. He handed me the large rectangle that was his gift to me.

"Open yours first!"

For the third time in as many minutes, I rolled my eyes. "Alright, alright."

I carefully ripped the paper off the object. At first, I didn't seem to realize what it was, then I looked at it again, and my breath caught somewhere deep in my throat.

It was a framed painting of four people: our mother was sitting in a chair, and our father was standing with one hand on the back of the chair. I was standing on the right side of the chair, our father's arm around my shoulders, and Al was seated on the ground on the other side of the chair, holding Mom's hand.

"Did you paint this?" I asked him. He nodded proudly. "It's…" I trailed off, searching for words. None came to mind. "It's amazing, Al."

"It's nothing."

"No, really…it's great."

Silence. Then I said, "Open yours."

He grinned and ripped the paper off my present to him.

He stopped and stared at the medium-size wooden object in his hands.

"Where did you find this?" he asked, his fingers running along the edges, inspecting it from every angle. His voice was a mixture of wonder and awe.

"It was a random shop of the corner near Mustang's garage," I replied. His mouth had fallen open into a little 'o'.

"Do you think it's…?"

"No. It's just…just a pretty shape."

He stared at the wooden transmutation circle in his hands. There were a few moments of silence. Then I said, "Thanks for the painting, Al."

Without even looking up, he replied, "Thank you…for this…"

I picked up the paper and threw it in the trash. Then I found a hook on the wall and carefully hung the painting on the wall. Al was still staring at the circle, turning it over again and again in his hands. I wondered why he was so fascinated by it.

Neither of us could perform alchemy in this world, but that didn't mean Al hadn't tried before. When we had to close the Gate on this side, he must have tried a million different things, but nothing worked. Eventually, neither alchemy nor science triumphed, and the Gate faded into nonexistence, surprising both Al and I.

Al drew hundreds more transmutation circles. It took him a year, but he finally accepted it was impossible and quit trying. He didn't seem to make a big deal about it after that.

"Do you think," said Al quietly. "…do you think we were the first people ever to cross the Gate intact?"

I looked at him. "I think Dad was the first."

"But…before that, maybe. Could there have been anyone else?"

He looked at me eagerly, clutching the wooden circle. "Al," I said. "It doesn't mean anything. It's just a shape that happens to look like a transmutation circle. It doesn't mean anything," I repeated. He didn't seem to buy it.

"Do you know who owns the shop?"

"Some old man. Does it matter?"

"Brother, what if-"

I sighed. "Look, Al, if that's what you want to believe, then go ahead, ask the owner and see if he knows anything. If he doesn't, then please just drop it."

He frowned. "Why? What's wrong with me wanting to know if there's someone else from our own world here?"

"I… there's nothing wrong with it. I…" I paused. "If you ever do find anyone," I continued, my voice lower. "Then don't tell me. I don't want to know."

He looked at me oddly. "You…don't…want to know?"

I shook my head. "Forget about the past, Al. Please forget. We can't go back. I'm sick and tired of wishing I could, but we can't. We just can't."

He was still looking at me with that confused look in his eyes. I shook my head and turned away.

"But…I thought…"

"Al, please! We'll never see them again! We have their counterparts, yeah, but it's not…them."

Neither of us moved. Then, he said, "What about what you're trying to do with Winnie? If you're so sure that she's not Winry, then why chase after her at all?"

"Have you ever heard the expression do as I say, not as I do?"

"Brother-"

"I'm an idiot. I accept that. But you're smart, Al, and you shouldn't go off on a wild goose chase for something that's never going to happen." I still wasn't looking at him.

"You're not an idiot."

I laughed, but it was an odd, strangled sound. "Why do you insist on arguing about the most ridiculous things?"

"It's not ridiculous!" There was a pause. Then, "If anyone's being ridiculous, it's you…Ed, we will see them again."

I finally turned around to face him. "What are you talking about? We're stuck here, Al."

"No, I mean…after. After we die."

I stared at him.

"Oh no," I whispered. "They converted you, didn't they?"

"Of course they didn't," he said, but he looked uncomfortable. "But, don't you want to believe in something? In at least some kind of afterlife? Somewhere you go when you die?"

"This is where you go when you die," I said, with a tone that I hoped sounded final. "Now take down that Christmas tree. I don't want to see it anymore."

He sighed, frustrated, but got up and did what I said anyway. I watched him warily. Sure, I had suspected something like this, but… I never thought Al was one to fall so hard for something so obviously fake.

Maybe he needed reassurance. For something. Maybe I should have said something to him.

But I didn't. I stayed quiet, and watched him throw out the Christmas tree. Even though I was glad to be rid of it, there was something strangely sad about seeing the tiny, broken tree thrown into the garbage.

For the rest of the day, we didn't really say much. The occasional words, when necessary, were brief and to the point. I looked at the painting again. It was still breathtaking. Al obsessed over the wooden transmutation circle.

And then, oddly enough, there was a knock on the door.

I answered the door; my eyes slid over the first person without seeing them, then rested on the face of the woman farthest away from the door. She distinctly looked like she didn't want to be here, and she was tapping her foot impatiently. For a second, I could say nothing; I was too flabbergasted at Winry's sudden appearance in my doorway.

But then I remembered that this was Winnie, not Winry, and I shook my head, but before I could say anything, the girl closest to me, Rebecca, said, "Edward! Merry Christmas! Where's your brother? Is he in?"

"Uh – yeah – he's – well, come on in," I said uncertainly. Rebecca beamed at me. "Al!" I called. "Someone's here to see you."

As I showed Rebecca and Winnie to the sofa and offered them a drink, Al popped out of his bedroom. At first, he looked confused, then his eyes darted towards Rebecca's hands and he grinned.

"Alphonse! I'm Rebecca, Rebecca Miethke, we've met before, and Winnie here works with your brother," said Rebecca, leaping to her feet. "I just finished your book! I can't believe it – it was so good!"

Al smiled, and there was something in his face that I had never seen before. "Thank you. What part did you like best?" he asked her. She sighed, clutching the book to her chest.

"Oh, I couldn't say – it was all so good! But I do like the part when…"

She and Al began to discuss the finer points of his book. I looked nonchalantly at Winnie, who was sitting straight up, staring at something beyond Rebecca's shoulder.

"Hey," I said softly. Winnie turned abruptly towards me, and Al and Rebecca didn't even pause in their discussion. "Did you read it too?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "Parts of it." She hesitated, then added, "It was obvious who was who. Two brothers? Come on. You were William, and he was John."

I blanked for a second, then remembered the fake names that Al had changed our own to. I laughed. William was the name Al had picked for himself, and he had called me John. He had told me he picked them because of how common of names they were.

"Almost," I said. "I was John. He's William."

She cocked her head a little to the side, looking as if she was thinking hard. "But that doesn't make sense," she murmured. "John…" I looked at her, amused, to see if she would finish the sentence, but she just shook her head. "I guess I could see that."

I asked, "What parts did you read?"

"The beginning," she said. "And the end."

"Oh…what did you like about it?"

She looked at me. "I can tell you what I didn't like," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"And what was that?"

"The girl," she said scornfully, sitting up straight again.

"Which girl?" I asked, running through a mental glossary of the girls mentioned in Al's novel.

"Claire," said Winnie, folding her arms. "She was an idiot."

Claire: Al's name for Winry. I laughed again.

"Really? You remind me of her."

Winnie shot me a glare so full of hate that I felt like a part of me just died inside. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just that…I don't know. You look like her."

She let out a little huff of indignation. "And that's all men care about, isn't it…" she muttered. "Looks."

"No – I didn't mean it like that-"

Rebecca laughed loudly. I glanced once at her, then back at Winnie. While Rebecca looked ecstatic, Winnie seemed sour and intent on making me look bad.

"Are you always this sober?" I teased her. "Lighten up."

At the word sober, her eyes flashed with something resembling cold fury. "I'm leaving, Becca," she said, standing up.

"Wait-" I said, but she was lighting a cigarette and walking out the door by then. Al shot me an apologetic look and got on with his discussion. I sighed and slumped back down on the couch.

"Don't pay attention to her," said Rebecca, surprising me by sitting down on the opposite side of the couch. "She just doesn't like Christmastime much."

"Why not?" asked Al. I had a feeling he would ask Rebecca about anything, just to keep her talking to him.

She picked at a frayed edge on the couch. "I don't think she'd like me telling you. But… if you get a chance, ask her about Michael someday."

I nodded, far away, as Al and Rebecca began discussing politics, and NYU, and the New York Times, and anything and everything else.

Al was just saying, "Yes, I read a little about it before I came here, is it really as bad as it sounds?"

Rebecca nodded her head. "It's horrible. People are getting shot left and right, and nobody knows why. So we all just assume they were bootleggers and they mixed with the wrong crowd, but what about the people who are innocent, caught in the crossfire? It's just awful."
"Sounds like it," said Al. "What about…"

They continued talking. I sighed and got up. After retrieving my coat, I slipped outside. I don't think either of them noticed.

Now this is going to sound very protective older brother-like, but I thought it was good for Al having someone his own age to talk to, even if it was a girl with nothing to her name. It wasn't as if he had many friends – other than the Literature Committee, who were more like teachers in reality. He had told me that a couple of the students at the University had been nice to him, but they were all just too polite. Rebecca…well, she was perfect.

As I walked slowly down a deserted street, I wondered where Winnie had gone. Did she live within walking distance? Roy always drove a car to and from work, with Winnie… I shook my head. She could probably walk back from here. There was no point in hoping to catch up to her. I wandered around for a little.

Then, light coming out from a doorway caught my eye. The windows were draped with black, so I couldn't see in much, but from the flashes through the door, it looked like some kind of party, or maybe a club.

Almost unconsciously, I found myself meandering forward. Something about this place had sparked my interest, even though I didn't even know what it was yet.

I didn't realize I was so close until a man at the door said, in a think New Yorker accent, "Welcome to the Barkoff Speakeasy, seat yourself."

I raised an eyebrow at this, mentally went through the amount of money I had in my wallet, then shrugged and walked right in.

There was a black piano player on a stage, and several drunken men and women were sitting at tables or stumbling through dance steps.

In that same obnoxious New York accent, the bartender said suspiciously, "How old are you, kid?"

"Twenty-one," I replied.

He looked me up and down. Then he grinned and said, "Okay, kid, twenty-one it is! Whaddaya what?" He gestured to the rack of alcohol behind him.

"What's the cheapest?" I asked.

He laughed. "The cheapest will turn you blind, son."
"Oh…then can I have the cheapest that won't turn me blind or kill me?"

He chuckled again. "Any drink'll kill you, eventually," he said, but he grabbed a glass from below the counter and poured some liquid into it. I paid and sat at the bar, taking sips from the glass now and then, trying hard not to think of anything.

A woman, only a few years older than me, suddenly appeared at my shoulder. She was dressed in a thin dress and a feather boa was twined around her neck. She smelled like sweat and alcohol.

"Hey honey," she said, pressing herself against me. "You look like you could do with some cheering up. Got any cash? I could give you a good time."

I scooted away from her. "No thank you."

She raised an eyebrow. Her face was very close to mine. "You sure, kid?"

"Positive."

She shrugged. "Your money."

I let out an inward sigh of relief as she left. But even as I did this, I almost wanted to go after her, and offer her whatever she wanted, if she would just…

I shook my head, disgusted with myself. To even think that way was to abandon all principles, all prior morals I might have retained. I downed my drink.

Someone on the stage said, in a low and seductive whisper, "And now for some slow Christmas tunes, courtesy of our own New York beauty, Silver Rhoades."

I rolled my eyes at the obviously fake name.

Then, a voice that sounded somewhat familiar began to sing a slow rendition of Silent Night. I turned around to face the stage.

Riza Hawkeye – I mean, Riza Mustang – was singing on the stage, her eyes slowly sweeping across the room. I don't think she saw me.

Leaning back and watching her sway gently on the stage, her smoky eyes closing and opening every ten seconds or so, I smiled. She must be the absolute opposite of the Riza Hawkeye in my world. How funny.

The song ended. She began to whisper her thanks, but a man rushed her offstage before she could finish. As she disappeared into the wings, I saw her shoot a dirty glance at the man. I smiled.

A band took the stage and started to play a slow, jazzy song. For a few more minutes, I lingered at the bar, then I shook my head and got up. Maybe Becca left. Maybe…

But, before I could even take a step, someone put a hand on my shoulder to stop me. I turned to see who it was.

Shaking from head to toe, Winnie stood behind me, something like fear in her eyes. "Help," was all she could manage.

"What?" I asked, bewildered. "What is it?"

She took my hand and, faster than I thought humanly possible, she had pulled me backstage, and in the dim light I could make out two figures, both glaring at us.

"Winry," said one of the figures – Riza. Her voice was heavy and trembling. "I told you to leave."

"What is this?" I asked, loudly. "What's going on here?"

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see the two figures more clearly. A man was standing over Riza, a glint of malice in his eye. One of his hands was raised, like he had just hit something. And sure enough, Riza's bottom lip was bleeding slightly, and a bruise was already forming on her cheek. I could feel cold fury rising in the pit of my stomach.

The man put his hand down. Calmly, he asked, "Who are you?"

Winnie's grip tightened on my arm. "He's a friend."

"Shut up, girl," said the man, without looking at her. "I'll ask again. Who are you?"

"I'm a friend," I replied. "Just like she said."

"You're a customer," sneered the man. "You don't have permission to be backstage."

"Oh, I'm just checking to make sure there's nothing fishy going on back here."

The man's eyes narrowed. Then, his arm shot out, aiming for my jaw. Instinctively, my hand reached up and my fingers closed around his wrist. He snarled.

"What do you think you're doing!" he screeched. Almost of its own accord, my arm swung out and my hand collided with his chin. He shrieked and stumbled back a few paces. I advanced until I was standing protectively in front of the two women.

"Get up," I murmured to Riza. She scrambled to her feet. "Now get out of here." She nodded, grabbed Winnie, and slipped away.

"Damn kid!" screamed the man. "You don't have the right! You have no right to dismiss my employees!"

A few men were now watching the argument. "You have no right to beat on a harmless woman," I countered.

He tried to hit me a few more times. I restrained myself as best I could, but by the end of the fight he had a bloody nose and two black eyes. "Get out of my bar!" he roared. "Get out and I never want to see you in here again! Get out, get out, get out!"

While everyone stared at me, I glared at the man one more time, then opened the door and left the building. Outside, there was absolute silence.

I strode a few paces out, then glanced around. Sure enough, there they were, two women huddled about fifteen meters away from the entrance, speaking in voices too low for me to hear.

I noticed Riza was only wearing a thin dress. She was shivering. As I approached them, I handed her my coat. She took it without a word.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," she said, finally. "I could have taken care of him myself."

"I don't doubt that you could have," I replied coolly. "I just thought you might appreciate a little help."

She was silent for a second. Then, she lit a cigarette and said, "It's not like it's something I haven't been through before."

"You should quit," I said.

"I did," she replied. "That's why he hit me."

More silence. Then, I said, "If you need to call someone, my apartment is only two streets-"

"No, thank you," said Riza. "We have a car." She gestured toward the street, where a dark automobile was sitting.

I nodded. "Well. I'll see you at work sometime, okay, Winnie?"

She nodded, still pale in the face. "I'll see you, Edward," she murmured, then Riza began to drag her away.

Just before they stepped off the curb, I saw Winnie glance back, a silent thank you on her lips.

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Originally there was more of a backstory on why Riza quit, but I decided to cut it out, because of circumstances in later chapters. Only about ten more chapters until this is caught up to where I actually am in writing it :D

Thank you so much once again for all your constructive criticism! It's seriously helpful. More?

Also: DON'T YOU JUST LOVE AL???