AHHHHHHH sorry about the unintended hiatus! I swear I never jntend for those to happen! But I started during midterms last semester and then I had like eight papers to write... plus my poor beta has no time to do anything of leisure so I only have two chapters in the reserves that have been edited...

But I finally have an update! Yay! (Or not yay, idk who really cares that much about this fic besides me lmao)

In this chapter, we've got science talk, milestones, and angst galore! I hope you all enjoy :D

(update 9/30/24: mass update!)

Ch 19: The Laws of Motion

As a species, humans are categorized by their bipedal nature; they have four limbs, but their spines are oriented vertically, and only two of those limbs are used to walk. When a human loses one of those crucial limbs, they have to adapt and work to regain their bipedal nature. It's difficult, but also something such perseverant creatures as humans have mastered over the centuries.

However, what is even more difficult is trying to perfectly recreate the function of that crucial limb with manmade ingenuity, replacing nerves and muscles with gears and wires and motors. But once again, humans are perseverant creatures; they don't like being told they can't.

One such human is quickly learning that even with everything he's been through in his almost twelve years of living, he knows nothing about true perseverance. It's been two days since Edward's first automail leg was attached, and it's taking sheer force of will not to give up on everything.

He's been through the first stage of human adaptation. He learned how to live with a body lacking two of its four limbs. He got used to his new daily life, repeatedly attaching and removing one of those limbs so he could function. But now, the "removal" facet has been taken away, and he's finding himself having to start stage two of human adaptation. And this one is going to be even harder than the first.

Everything hurts. It's been four and half months since the last time he slept with two legs, and the leg he was born with wasn't made of hard, cold steel. The first night, he asked Granny if he was supposed to take the automail off, and she said that, technically, he could, but no one wants to go through re-docking every single morning of their life. It would eat into his existence, forcing him to recover from the connection for several hours every day, and that's no way to live. Automail outfittees sleep, shower, and relax with their limbs; that's just an accepted fact. And it's one of the biggest reasons rehabilitation is expected to be a multi-year process; it takes a lot out of a person to force their body into living every second of their days with limbs thrice as heavy as the ones they replace.

Edward understands the principle behind this, but it doesn't change the fact the experience is a miserable one. Having a constant, unremovable weight hanging off his stump is not pleasant. At least before he could take it off when the pain got to be too much. But now he has no outlet for relief, and he's beginning to wonder if setting such a short timeline for himself was a bad idea. This is only the first stage of automail, and it's just his leg. How is he going to deal with an arm, too? He hasn't even started his journey yet, and it's already this difficult.

And to make matters worse, the damn thing still won't respond to him. It's as useful as a hunk of metal stuck to your body can be; you can make do to function, but it's not fulfilling its intended purpose. His old leg at least offered some motion from the knee, even if he couldn't control it; having that motion removed forces him to keep all of his movement at the hip, and it's starting to strain his entire body.

He asked the Rockbells if there was a way they could unlock it so it could work more like the previous leg, but they said there was a reason they always lock knee joints at first. Without his control, a limp knee would offer not an ounce of support—he wouldn't be able to walk at all. Until he can learn to communicate with it, its resting position needs to be forcibly supportive—even if it's not pleasant.

The Rockbells also say this is all normal. It can take people over a week to get their first bit of movement from automail. He can't allow himself to be discouraged.

And he's not. Really. He knows, deep down, he can do this. But that doesn't mean it's not still disappointing in the moment.

…And painful.

At first, with his lack of ability to move anything, he thought he was going to be doomed to the automail stuck in the same position all day. But at the very least, he's figured out he can forcibly bend the knee by hand to sit more comfortably.

That's actually part of his training, too. The Rockbells have him manually move the joint often, in hopes of stimulating his nerves into reacting with it. The most it's seemed to do in the past two days was make his muscles twitch, but the Rockbells said that in and of itself is good. Getting some kind of response, even if it's machine-to-nerves and not nerves-to-machine, is progress.

He's been working on this all afternoon with Granny, gaze burning into the automail like he can will it to move.

…Actually, that's exactly what he needs to do.

Edward huffs, flopping onto his back in exasperation.

"Alright, Ed, that's enough," Pinako says from the corner. "We'll do some more after dinner. Relax for a few hours."

He nods, looking defeated.

"Remember: you're doing very well. I'm proud of you." He nods again, and Pinako sighs. She calls for Al, and leaves the Elrics to their business while she does some housework, feeling a little too guilty for putting Edward in this situation in the first place. But, by God, she's going to get him through it.

The following day, with the same results as the prior, Pinako pulls Winry aside while Ed and Al are reading in Ed's room.

"We need a new plan, Winry. Our usual methods aren't clicking with him."

Winry nods sadly, towel paused on the dish she was drying. "I was hoping I was just imagining that."

"I probably shouldn't have expected him to be like our other patients...he's eleven years old, for heaven's sake…" Pinako puts her fingers to the bridge of her nose, feeling rather ill prepared. Not only is Ed trying to condense his recovery into one short year, but there's also a reason she's turned down the few child patients who've applied to her. Kids don't think like adults do, don't function like adults do, don't "trust the process" like adults do. She needs an entirely new approach to help Ed click with his automail. But what? She looks at her granddaughter, taking in her bright blue pajamas and face still round with baby fat—and a realization hits her.

Winry is also only eleven years old. She's known Ed her entire life. She understands him better than anyone—minus Al, of course.

"...What do you think we should do, Winry?"

Winry's eyes widen in surprise. "You—you're asking me?"

"You know Edward. What do you think would help him?"

Winry blinks, looking a bit out of her element. "Well...I…" she trails off, looking in the direction of the medical wing. "I bet he's in there right now, reading alchemy books with Al. He makes everything into a science—even games! When we were out in the snow the other day, he started rambling off facts about winter weather…"

Pinako smiles fondly. "Sounds like a certain girl I know with automail trivia."

Winry blushes slightly. "Yeah, but Ed always makes it so—" she waves her hands in a vague gesture, hoping her grandmother will somehow understand what she means. "—you know."

Pinako laughs, pinching Winry's cheek. She joins the eleven-year-old in looking down the hall. "Everything's a science, huh?" She smirks, starting swiftly off toward the Elrics. "Follow me, girl."

As the two Rockbells approach Recovery, they hear Ed and Al's voices floating out of the room, just as they expected. They pause outside, listening to the conversation.

"...ent exchange is the fundamental principle, Brother," Al's voice says. "I don't understand how it can be bypassed."

"I don't get it either, but it must have something to do with the properties of the stone," Ed's voice replies. "Nothing I've read explains what it's made of, but it must be worth a lot. Remember what Teacher told us? Equivalent exchange usually operates just like that—equivalent. Matter is equal to matter. But sometimes—very rarely—it operates more like market exchange. A piece of gold is nowhere near the mass of a property, but it's worth enough to be given in exchange. That's got to be how the philosopher's stone works."

"...So you think the stone is just worth so much that it can use a lot more alchemic power than a circle?"

"Exactly. Doing alchemy with a circle is like trading a chocolate chip cookie for a sugar cookie; you get what you give, just in a different flavor. But doing alchemy with a philosopher's stone is like buying land with a piece of gold; you get more than you give. Maybe even so much that it's like you're giving nothing at all."

In the hall, Pinako and Winry exchange looks, Winry's clearly saying 'see, I told you so!'. Pinako gives Winry a pleased, knowing look in return. 'Thanks for the help.'

She knows just what to do now.

…

Edward trudges toward the physical therapy room, dreading the impending session. It's been five days now since his automail was attached, and he still hasn't gotten an ounce of voluntary movement from it. The most he's experienced was an involuntary jerk during last night's exercise, but he just can't figure out how to communicate with it at will. It's like there's a wall between his mind and the leg, blocking out his signals.

At least the pain is a little better, as he's finally figured out the best position to sleep in that doesn't leave his hip so sore in the morning. But even if the pain in his joint has lightened up, it's only gotten worse at his port. He knows there's a metal rod through the end of his bone, and he's not sure how, but he swears he can feel it. Pride be damned, he might have to ask Granny if there's anything he can do to ease some of the pain if it doesn't go away soon.

Ed limps to his destination—only to find the room empty. He frowns, looking back down the hall for any sign of either Rockbell. Where are they? They haven't given up on him, have they? He starts off toward the main house, finding everyone in the living room.

"Granny? Aren't we doing therapy?" he asks.

"I actually have something else for you today," she replies. "You can take a seat."

Trepidation and impatience war inside his chest, but he ultimately settles on wary curiosity. He does as told, forcibly folding the automail leg up on the couch alongside his real leg. Beside him, Winry looks almost excited, and it confuses him further.

"So, it's been five days and you still haven't gotten your automail to move…" Pinako starts, nonchalantly tapping her pipe against its ashtray.

"I thought you said that was normal!" Ed shouts, suddenly feeling like she's scolding him for something he has no control over. "Why are you making it sound like it's my fault?"

"Quiet, I didn't say anything like that...I'm just stating the facts," she snaps. He calms slightly, waiting for more. "Why do you think that is?"

He pauses, taken aback by the question. He was under the impression it had nothing to do with what he thinks, just how his body works. "I—I don't know. I feel like I'm right there, right on the edge of getting it to work, but there's just something missing…"

Pinako nods thoughtfully, putting a hand to her chin. "Tell me, Ed, do you know the three laws of motion?"

…Huh? What's that got to do with anything? "Of course I do."

"Explain them to me."

How is this related to automail? But whatever, I'll never turn down an opportunity to talk about science..."Um, an object at rest will stay at rest unless otherwise acted upon. An object's rate of acceleration is dependent on its mass. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction." He frowns. "Why?"

"What kind of matter do those laws affect?"

"Everything. Atoms, people, planets, stars...everything in the universe has mass, and is governed by laws according to its mass. Again, why?" he repeats, extra forcefully.

"So that means those laws apply to automail, don't they?"

Ed stops, still trying to figure out the relevance. "I guess."

Pinako smiles, watching the gears in his head turn. "Come on, Sprout, use that little sciency brain of yours and figure it out."

Slowly, it seems to click. "...So you're saying I just need to think about the scientific principles behind my automail? And then it'll work?"

"I can't guarantee anything," Pinako says, "but I've got a hunch."

Ed gazes at his legs, looking with interest at the motorized knee. He supposes the correlation makes sense.

Granny puts out her pipe and stands, crossing the living room to kneel in front of him. He readjusts himself so his feet are on the floor, waiting for her to give him instructions. But instead, she just taps his metal knee. "Let's focus on law number one for a while. An object at rest will stay at rest unless acted upon. Right now, your knee is at rest, waiting for you to act upon it. Move your right leg for me." He does. "How did you do that?"

"Something about nerve signals stimulating muscles?" I'm not the medical expert here...

"So in other words...force?" He nods, and she grins, looking over at Al. "Alphonse, move your metal butt over here." The ten-year-old does, and she returns her attention to Ed. "Now how did Al do that? He doesn't have nerves or muscles like you do."

Honestly, Ed isn't entirely sure. He has theories, things he's talked about with Al during their research sessions. He thinks it has something to do with the connection of the body, mind, and soul. Al's soul is here while his body and mind are stuck in the Portal. They have to be connected still, because where else is Al storing new memories and information? It's not in his soul; his soul is just the spirit that inhabits his body. So Ed has a hunch that his body and mind are seeing everything his soul is doing, and letting him control the suit of armor. "I think it's his mind."

Pinako gives him a look. "What did you just say?"

"Al's mind controls his body?" Ed repeats, a look of realization dawning on him as the words leave his mouth.

Pinako pokes Ed's metal leg again. "Your automail doesn't have nerves or muscles, just like Al. But your brother can still control himself through his mind. You can do the same thing, Edward." Ed looks back at his brother, thinking everything over. "You don't have to think of the automail as an extension of your body. You can just think of it as something you can manipulate. If you know what you want, it will listen. You are the outside force, acting upon it."

So my automail is like Al's armor? It's waiting for me to move it? Ed nods again, focusing back on his legs.

Granny grabs his metal ankle, forcing it up slightly. With his knee unresponsive, tugging on his foot is also going to tug on what's left of his real leg, and it's going to instinctively make him want to pull his foot back to relieve the pain. "I'm going to pull on your leg, and I want you to pull back."

Ed narrows his eyes. I can do it. It's just like science. Or alchemy. Manipulation of matter by energy.

"You can do this, Brother," Al says, voice determined and sincere. "I know it."

Ed chuckles. He's never been one to be outdone by his little brother. He feels a tug on his stump, aggravating the already sore muscle. It hurts, and she knows it does, but that's the motivation he needs. So, she pulls a little harder.

And, weak as it might be, Ed pulls back.

…

It seems that the scientific approach was the piece of the puzzle Edward was missing. Following that breakthrough, everything else just falls into place. Each day, Ed finds he can control his knee a little better, with a little wider range.

Honestly, it's an immense relief. Ed would like to say it's because he's finally proven to himself that he's capable of handling this, but that's not the main reason. In reality, he's just thankful that it doesn't hurt so much anymore. Being able to actually use his automail has made walking a million times better, even if he's still learning. His steps are still stiff and slow, requiring a great deal of concentration to execute, but his poor hip is finally getting a break and that's honestly all he can ask for. The Rockbells even said they'll be able to completely unlock the joint soon, and let him support himself on his own.

But, of course, with his newfound mobility comes newfound responsibilities.

As much as Edward would never admit it, he's kind of enjoyed how soft and lenient Granny has been since this ordeal began. His therapy is difficult, but that's all he's had to put up with from her for the past several months. So when Al pokes his head into Ed's room and says Granny wants to see him, he feels an immediate sense of dread building in his stomach.

The Elrics meet Pinako in the living room, and without so much as a greeting, she shoves a feather duster and a broom at them. "I have to run to town for some milk and eggs, so I need you boys to take care of the chores while I'm gone." Ed looks blankly at the feather duster in his hand, and Pinako snickers. "Come on now, Sprout, you didn't think you'd get out of chores forever, did you?"

Ed pouts, clearly saying, uh, yeah, I kinda did, and Pinako laughs again.

"Al has been doing his fair share for months, and just because you're still one limb short of a full set doesn't mean you can't do yours. It's just dusting. You can do some dusting." She pats Ed's head and Al's arm, and Ed frowns at her. "I'll be back in an hour."

Once the door closes, Ed glowers at his hand and the tool occupying it. "This sucks."

Al laughs lightly. "Come on, Brother, it's not so bad. We used to do chores all the time for Granny."

"I know, but I was kinda hoping I wouldn't have to do them again until after I left for the military," Ed grumbles.

Al gives him a sideways glance, eyes narrowing ever so slightly in a way Ed just knows is mischievous. "Got used to the easy life, did you?" he teases.

Ed repeatedly smacks the feather duster against Al's arm. "I wouldn't call my life these past four months easy, Al!"

Al calmly stops the duster assault with one gloved hand. "I know. And that's why you can handle doing a little housework for Granny, after everything she's done for you. It's equivalent exchange, after all."

Ed purses his lips, looking thoughtfully at the duster. "Smooth move, little brother. Using equivalence against me…" He tugs the cleaning tool from Al's grip, holding it out like a sword. "Fine! But only because she's taken such good care of us." With that, Ed moves over to the cupboard, speed-dusting the seldom used dishes inside.

If Al could roll his eyes, he would have. The younger boy starts sweeping, listening to his brother's exaggerated whining from the kitchen. Ten minutes of aggressive dusting later, and Al hears a crash followed by a slew of swearing.

Al hurries into the kitchen, mind reeling through every worst case scenario, only to see Ed kneeling over the smashed remains of a porcelain teapot. He looks up, hand still holding a shard of teapot, and his face twists with guilt. "Dammit, sorry, Al. I bumped into the cabinet, and I tried to catch it...I'll fix it, don't worry." He scoops several pieces into a pile, double checking the surrounding area for more. "Can you get me some glue?"

Al steps closer. "Glue? Why don't you just use alchemy?"

Ed freezes. "Alchemy? I—I mean, I could—but I, uh—" He looks at the decimated pot. "It's not broken that bad. I can just use glue."

Al pauses. "Ed? Are you alright?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, narrowing his eyes. Just because he wants to fix things the normal way doesn't mean anything at all! In fact, if Winry were here, she'd tell him to do the same!

"You never pass up the opportunity to fix something with alchemy," Al says matter of factly.

Ed fumbles for a response, coming up empty. Al closes the distance between them, kneeling beside the older Elric. He gathers the shards into a neat pile, taking out a piece of chalk from the pouch tied onto his leg. Ed watches as Al carefully constructs a circle around the pieces, golden eyes shining with unidentifiable emotion.

Before Al activates the circle, Edward suddenly speaks. "Are you afraid of alchemy, Al?" When did his voice become so hoarse?

Al stops, gloves hovering over his array. "Afraid?" He looks from Ed to the floor, and the inhuman hands he now possesses. "I guess I didn't think about that." He hesitates voicing his next thought. "Is...is that why you wanted to use glue? Because you're afraid of using alchemy?"

Ed doesn't confirm nor deny this, but the pallid color in his face says everything.

"Brother, why didn't you tell me?" Al turns toward Ed, circle forgotten.

A look of frustration crosses Ed's features. "Because it's stupid, Al." He drags his hand down his face. "I'm going to be a State Alchemist, for God's sake...and I can't even do a little alchemy to fix a stupid pot."

"Sure you can, if you try it," Al says, not quite understanding. If he can fix a pot, then Ed can fix a pot; the elder Elric has always been better at alchemy than the younger one.

"No, Al, I—I can't." Ed glares at the broken teapot for a moment before his expression melts into shame. He shifts uncomfortably, hesitating to ask his next question. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

Ed looks away; if he's going to say this, there's no way he can look Al in the eyes while he does. "I've thought about doing alchemy a ton since I decided to get your body back. But—but every time I commit to trying it, I chicken out. And I just think about that night instead." He glances at his armored brother, his hand subconsciously finding its way to his empty shirt sleeve before he averts his gaze again. A nervous laugh escapes him, a pathetic attempt to hide his fear. "Isn't that so dumb?"

Alphonse shifts, unsure what to say. Ed's voice is about two pitches too high, on the brink of losing it entirely, so he has to be careful. "I don't think it's dumb, Brother. The last time we used alchemy didn't go so well, after all. But...it is a little worrying…" He tilts his head. "How do you expect to be a State Alchemist if you're afraid of performing alchemy?"

Ed sighs, slumping forward and curling his hand into a loose fist. "I can do it. I know I can. Just—just not quite yet. I just need a little more time to get my courage back." He forces himself to make eye contact. "But I promise, Al. I won't let you down over something this stupid."

Al is still for a moment before nodding. "Okay, Brother," he finally says, voice trusting and without a hint of doubt.

It makes Ed feel like a fraud.

The suit of armor returns his attention to the array, placing his hands on it and mending the broken teapot. Ed watches through wary eyes as alchemic energy sparks through the porcelain, erasing the cracks between pieces.

Alchemy is good. Alchemy fixes things. There's no reason to be afraid of it.

Ed takes in a long breath as Al picks up the newly fixed pot and returns it to its shelf. He closes his eyes. Rotten skeletons and screaming little brothers and severed limbs flash in his mind.

But there is a reason to be afraid.

There's always a reason.

I highly doubt anyone's noticed, but I have been going through this story and editing it. Adding new content to previous chapters and fixing inconsistencies. It's given me something to do while the forward progress on it has been slow going. I'm particularly proud of the changes to chapters 1, 3, and 13. So if you're ever rereading this fic, I hope you like the updates!

On a side note, I'm heading back to school next week, as a newly twenty-one year old woman (ugh, I don't like calling myself a woman, I still feel like a little girl XD). Me and my roommate can have alcohol in our dorm now. Crazy.

See you all next chapter!