[May] Pavlov, 1-3 (R)
Thanks to the graciousness of my lovely wife nymeria, I am re-uploading my FMA fics here. My old writing LJ was thegrandline, but the person with whom I shared it had a falling out, and in the divorce she got to keep the house, but I took my children.
So starting from the beginning of my FMA brothercest career...et voila!
Title: Pavlov
Author: May (maypirate)
Rating: R
Pairing: Elricest
Notes: This story is named after my favorite doujinshi in the history of time, and I think we're both abusing the poor doctor's name.
1.1
Al did not come home last night.
Al did not come home, and Ed did not sleep.
He feels it now, sitting at his desk outside Mustang’s office, his blue uniform unnaturally uncomfortable and his eyes begging to be shut. He is waiting for the phone to ring, but doesn’t want to admit it. He is waiting for Al to call and tell him he is alive, safe, and waiting for him to come home.
When the phone finally does speak up, he’s snatched it up before it completes the first ring, shouting “AL?!” into the receiver as if no one else -certainly not the Fuhrer- might be trying to reach him.
“Where the fuck have you been?!”
Al is alive, of course.
“Are you all right? Are you injured? Can you walk?!”
Al is safe, just as he’d hoped.
“Where were you last night? Where are you now?”
Al is at home...
“...is someone there with you?”
...but as for waiting for him...
It’s not lost on everyone else in the room that Ed has had the metaphorical bucket of cold water dumped down his spine. He hangs up the phone with a sharp, bitter click, and then three things happen in short succession.
Edward Elric stands up, puts his hands under his desk, and throws it -literally, a desk that must weight twice as much as he does- halfway across the room, papers and pens and ink and envelopes flying everywhere.
The Fullmetal Alchemist stalks down the hall to the bathroom and leans over a sink, looking down into it, taking heavy, short breaths, unable to look in the mirror.
And Al’s older brother suddenly whirls around, crashing into a stall and falling back against the wall, folding his arms on his knees, and sobbing until it makes him very, very sick.
1.2
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s stupid.”
“Why is it stupid?”
“Well why do you want to do it?”
“I don’t know,” Al shrugged, “It sounded like fun. Maybe...we could do it together?”
“No fucking way.” Ed’s face was a sneer of disapproval. “I don’t dance.” A pause. “Why do you want to take dance lessons? You’re a guy.”
“So? It would give me something to do during the day.”
“I thought you liked dusting.”
“There’s only so many times one can dust the same shelf before it loses its thrill, brother.” The younger Elric’s voice had grown cold.
“So pick another hobby! Like...gardening or...I dunno, baking!”
“I’m not a housewife.”
“I didn’t say you were!”
“I just thought...it would be nice to go out, and to make some friends.”
“You have friends!”
“They either work all day or live a very long train ride away!”
“You have ME.”
“YOU also work all day.”
Ed folded his arms across his chest and scowled.
“Fine, go take stupid dance lessons, see if I care.”
Al doesn’t meet his eyes, but speaks softly.
“I really would like it if you’d think about maybe coming with me someti-”
“No. End of discussion. We’re done talking about this.” Ed dared to slide his eyes over to his brother. “Okay?”
His only answer was a sigh.
2.1
Ed is pulled off the bathroom floor by Havoc, who wonders loudly if maybe Ed is hungover. Ed briefly considers tearing out his liver and feeding it to him, but his hands feel weak and shaky. They are met outside by Hawkeye, whose concern is evident, and who gently takes the boy’s arm from Havoc’s loose hold and guides him to a chair, brings him a cup of tea, and knows better than to ask what’s wrong.
The youngest of the three gathered blonds stares at the floor until a disgustingly familiar pair of boots clicks to a stop in front of him.
“I hope you’re planning on paying for that desk.”
“Take it out of my research grant, sir.” His mouth tastes terrible around the words, devoid of their usual flavor of impetuousness.
“I’d like to speak to you in my office.”
“I’d like to see you dead.”
“Well then, I guess we both have things we’d like. Why don’t we try to address the more plausible one first?”
“With all due respect, fuck you up the ass, sir.”
“Thank you for the offer. Perhaps we’ll talk about that as well.”
And Ed is unexpectedly hauled up by the collar and dragged into Fuhrer Mustang’s office, the door slamming behind them ominously as Roy tosses him onto the couch and stands in front of him with brutal stare that demands answers.
“What is the matter with you?”
“I don’t see anything different about today than any other day, Mustang.” He lets the second vowel draw out, leaning into his metal hand and refusing to look him in the face. “You piss me off.”
“Normally you don’t throw desks across the room, even when I’m involved.”
Ed shrugs.
“And I was not involved until this moment.”
“I liked it better that way.”
“I understand Alphonse called. Did you two have a fight?”
“None of your business. I’m not talking to you.” The boy stands up and reaches for the door-
“Sit. Back. Down.”
His hand pauses at the tone, but he says nothing, nor does he sit.
“I don’t care if Alphonse calls you at work, but if you’re going to have marital spats, take it elsewhere, and throw your desks away from the heads of my soldiers.”
Ed can’t help but give a sick giggle at the word “marital.” If only he knew...
“And the next time you’re sick in a restroom that other people use, please aim better.”
The giggling continues, sounding more and more ill, making Ed’s stomach twist even as he can’t stop it.
“Next time, I’ll aim for you.”
Roy is silent for a moment, then walks to his desk and picks up the phone.
“I’m calling a car. You are taking the rest of today off.”
Ed turns sharply at that, the word “NO!” sounding as nauseous as he feels.
The Fuhrer’s hand stops midway through a number.
“No?”
“I...” Ed swallows hard. “I’m fine. I don’t...I don’t want to go home. I can work.”
A brief moment, and then Roy’s hand finishes that number, and moves on to the next.
“You are clearly unwell. You are taking the rest of today off, and that is final.”
“NO!” Ed slams his hand on the cradle of the phone, efficiently destroying it. “I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME!”
Roy raises an eyebrow, more than concerned now.
“Fullmetal...what on earth did Alphonse say to you?”
What did he say?
What did he say, indeed.
Roy has to grab for his wastebasket very quickly as Ed is sick again.
2.2
That night was not the first, but it was the one that showed him he was too far gone to ever even look back.
Not that Ed liked to look back at anything.
He didn’t care much for social drinking, and certainly not with his fellow military dogs, but Al had promised to meet them at the bar when they got off work, and who was Ed to resist seeing his brother a few minutes earlier than scheduled?
It had bothered him, then, that Al was not immediately forthcoming. In fact, as he sat down and waved away a menu, he couldn’t see Al anywhere, and he worried for a moment that perhaps the younger boy had gotten lost, or had stopped to pick up a lost kitten that had subsequently given him rabies.
Havoc’s elbow in his side had interrupted his attempts to remember what the symptoms of rabies were.
“Isn’t that Al?”
“Huh?”
Ed looked up, and around, seeing a crowd of people gathered at the side of the room by the Friday night band. Grumbling, he stood on his chair to see over their heads, and-
The whole room went dim, and-
Every voice was silenced, and-
Al.
He’d seen Al move similarly to that many times, in many childhood fights, in many grown-up sparring matches, but it had never seemed so...blatantly lovely before. It was effortless, smooth, succinct and perfect, and he swung his partner out and around so she returned to him with her back to his chest, their movements synchronized even at the speed they were dancing.
And the smile on Alphonse Elric’s face was the smile that broke a thousand hearts.
Ed stopped breathing, his hand on his chest, gripping the lapel of his uniform as he watched one bead of sweat trace down Al’s cheek and fall to his shoulder...
He wasn’t sure if he’d fallen as well or sat down too quickly, but the wooden seat was suddenly hard against his behind, and he was reaching for someone else’s drink, tossing it back in one long go as if it would quench the unbearable, burning ache that had abruptly taken over his body.
It wasn’t fair for this to happen to him in public. In private, where he could be alone with his dirty, awful, terrible, wonderful thoughts...that was different. But here? How dare Al be such a good dancer! How dare he sweat and grin like that for a stupid girl! How dare he be sexy beyond all fairness and reason and how dare he let anyone else see because he was...he belonged to-
“Brother!”
Ed nearly choked on the glass as Al plopped down in the empty chair beside him.
“I didn’t see you come in, I’m sorry! I guess I got here before you, and there was a band and-”
“Uh-huh.”
“Will you come meet my friend?”
“What friend?” Ed had decided the best course of action was to not look at his brother at all, but to rather stare at anything else in the room.
“My friend Sarah. I was dancing with her. She’s from my class. She’s very good, won’t you-”
“Yeah yeah, fine, will you sit still? Jeez, I’ve been working all day and I don't-”
“Brother-”
“-some random girl who’ll probably fawn all over me once she realizes who-”
“Brother-”
“-plus you stink, Al, do you mind-”
“BROTHER!”
Ed fell quiet, turning the glass around and around in his hands.
“What?”
“Will you look at me?”
It hurt.
It hurt to look.
It hurt to raise his eyes and look at Al’s face -flushed and hot and practically begging to be kissed, and then more than kissed- but he did, and the earnestness and eagerness in the bronze eyes that met him grabbed his heart like a bitter vice.
“Will you come dance with me? Please? I can teach you how.”
It would have felt too good to say yes, too easy, too...something. But it felt just as nice to say,
“No.”
“Just a little? Please, I-”
“No.” Repeating it gave it power, made him think that perhaps he could master the ache, that by hurting Al he could hurt himself enough to focus on a different pain.
“Oh. I...sorry. Sorry, brother.”
And after Al slowly got up and turned away, Ed grabbed his coat and walked swiftly out the door, his steady gait carrying him home, up the stairs and into the bedroom with two beds, two hateful beds that he wanted to be one and before he could help himself he was lying on Al’s bed, legs spread wide, hips working up and down as his hand worked up and down, thinking about nothing but and everything that was Al.
And it wasn’t the first time for that either, nor was it the last.
3.1
No one questions why Fullmetal spends the rest of the day lying on Fuhrer Mustang’s couch, pale and curled into a ball next to a bucket.
It’s probably better not to know, anyway.
The day slowly fades, amber light tracing across the room until it reaches the ceiling, gives a gasp, and vanishes into night. The Fuhrer turns on a lamp and continues working, and as ghastly as he is feeling, Ed can’t help but finally doze off, only to be woken by a hand on his shoulder what seems like seconds later.
“Fullmetal.”
“G’way.”
“Fullmetal, you have to go home now.”
“I told you before.”Ed rolls over, facing the back of the couch. “I don’t want to go home.”
“You don’t have a choice. I’m going home now, and I’m not leaving you alone in my office.”
“Then I’ll sleep in the hall.”
“Go home, Fullmetal. You are stubborn and sick, and if you died during the night, it would be hell to clean up.”
Ed wants to fire off another sassy retort, but there are new footsteps in the room, and he can hear the distinctive voice of Hawkeye whispering quietly to Roy.
“Fullmetal.”
“Sir?”
“Alphonse is here to pick you up. You now have even less of a choice. Go home.”
Ed turns so quickly that he falls off the couch, knocking over the bucket -which is thankfully empty.
“You bastard! Did you fucking call him?!”
Roy’s patience has obviously been tried to the limit, and reaches down to grab Ed’s collar for the second time that day and push him towards the door.
“Contrary to what you may think, I don’t actually spend every minute thinking of ways to thwart you.” They are outside the office now, and Ed can see an all too painful silhouette down the hall. “He came of his own accord. Go HOME.”
Roy turns, locking his office, then follows Hawkeye in the opposite direction, leaving the hallway devoid of any life but Elrics.
Ed stands exactly where Roy put him, staring firmly at the floor, trying not to let the tremors of tiredness, sickness and hurt show.
“Brother!” Al’s voice is scolding once he gets close enough. “You look terrible!”
His brother does not respond.
“You should have come home if you were sick.”
Silence.
“Why didn’t you come home?”
Again.
“Why didn’t you tell me on the phone?”
“Would...” They are both surprised to hear him speaking. “Would that have changed anything you said to me?”
Al blinks.
“I...”
“Don’t answer.” Ed is sweeping past him, suddenly eager to get home and bury himself in sheets and pillows, smothering out everything but misery. “Don’t say anything.”
Al follows, silent and obedient.
3.2
There was music dripping out the window when he came home, which was odd, Ed thought, because he didn’t remember them owning a record player.
Pushing into the house, he draped his military coat on the rack, looking around the living room and finding a record spinning alone.
“Al? You here?”
“I’m here!” The younger boy leaned out of the kitchen, smiles and aprons and a streak of some something red-ish across his cheek. “How was your day?”
“Fine, where did the record player come from?”
“Sarah lent it to me.”
“That’s dandy, why?”
“Why do you think” He darted back into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder. “I’m going to get you to dance with me whether you like it or not.”
“No fucking way.”
“We’ll have dinner first, and then you’ll see.”
“How many goddamn times do I have to say ‘no,’ Al?”
“I’m going to wear you down eventually.”
“Nn.” Ed dragged the needle off the record with a nasty “WRRP!” and sat down at his place at the table.
Al, who had been bouncing around the kitchen, stopped quite suddenly and turned.
“Brother...why do you hate dancing so much?”
“I don’t hate it when other people do it.”
“Just when I do it?”
“Just when you don’t fucking listen me when I say I don’t want to! What the hell’s your problem? Leave me alone about it.”
The younger boy nodded, his shoulders slumping at he turned to the stove.
“I promise I won’t ever ask you again.”
“Good.”
Dinner was a quiet affair, both brothers only picking at their meals before Al stood up.
“I’m going to go return Sarah’s record player. She’s probably missing it, and there’s no sense in borrowing it if...anyway.”
“Fine, fine.” Ed had gotten up from the table and gone to the book shelf, flipping through a random book so as not to have to recognize that he’d hurt Al’s feelings.
“I might...I might stay and practice some things with her. Is that all right?”
“Sure, fine, whatever.”
Al left a few moments later, and neither of them said good bye.
So starting from the beginning of my FMA brothercest career...et voila!
Title: Pavlov
Author: May (maypirate)
Rating: R
Pairing: Elricest
Notes: This story is named after my favorite doujinshi in the history of time, and I think we're both abusing the poor doctor's name.
1.1
Al did not come home last night.
Al did not come home, and Ed did not sleep.
He feels it now, sitting at his desk outside Mustang’s office, his blue uniform unnaturally uncomfortable and his eyes begging to be shut. He is waiting for the phone to ring, but doesn’t want to admit it. He is waiting for Al to call and tell him he is alive, safe, and waiting for him to come home.
When the phone finally does speak up, he’s snatched it up before it completes the first ring, shouting “AL?!” into the receiver as if no one else -certainly not the Fuhrer- might be trying to reach him.
“Where the fuck have you been?!”
Al is alive, of course.
“Are you all right? Are you injured? Can you walk?!”
Al is safe, just as he’d hoped.
“Where were you last night? Where are you now?”
Al is at home...
“...is someone there with you?”
...but as for waiting for him...
It’s not lost on everyone else in the room that Ed has had the metaphorical bucket of cold water dumped down his spine. He hangs up the phone with a sharp, bitter click, and then three things happen in short succession.
Edward Elric stands up, puts his hands under his desk, and throws it -literally, a desk that must weight twice as much as he does- halfway across the room, papers and pens and ink and envelopes flying everywhere.
The Fullmetal Alchemist stalks down the hall to the bathroom and leans over a sink, looking down into it, taking heavy, short breaths, unable to look in the mirror.
And Al’s older brother suddenly whirls around, crashing into a stall and falling back against the wall, folding his arms on his knees, and sobbing until it makes him very, very sick.
1.2
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s stupid.”
“Why is it stupid?”
“Well why do you want to do it?”
“I don’t know,” Al shrugged, “It sounded like fun. Maybe...we could do it together?”
“No fucking way.” Ed’s face was a sneer of disapproval. “I don’t dance.” A pause. “Why do you want to take dance lessons? You’re a guy.”
“So? It would give me something to do during the day.”
“I thought you liked dusting.”
“There’s only so many times one can dust the same shelf before it loses its thrill, brother.” The younger Elric’s voice had grown cold.
“So pick another hobby! Like...gardening or...I dunno, baking!”
“I’m not a housewife.”
“I didn’t say you were!”
“I just thought...it would be nice to go out, and to make some friends.”
“You have friends!”
“They either work all day or live a very long train ride away!”
“You have ME.”
“YOU also work all day.”
Ed folded his arms across his chest and scowled.
“Fine, go take stupid dance lessons, see if I care.”
Al doesn’t meet his eyes, but speaks softly.
“I really would like it if you’d think about maybe coming with me someti-”
“No. End of discussion. We’re done talking about this.” Ed dared to slide his eyes over to his brother. “Okay?”
His only answer was a sigh.
2.1
Ed is pulled off the bathroom floor by Havoc, who wonders loudly if maybe Ed is hungover. Ed briefly considers tearing out his liver and feeding it to him, but his hands feel weak and shaky. They are met outside by Hawkeye, whose concern is evident, and who gently takes the boy’s arm from Havoc’s loose hold and guides him to a chair, brings him a cup of tea, and knows better than to ask what’s wrong.
The youngest of the three gathered blonds stares at the floor until a disgustingly familiar pair of boots clicks to a stop in front of him.
“I hope you’re planning on paying for that desk.”
“Take it out of my research grant, sir.” His mouth tastes terrible around the words, devoid of their usual flavor of impetuousness.
“I’d like to speak to you in my office.”
“I’d like to see you dead.”
“Well then, I guess we both have things we’d like. Why don’t we try to address the more plausible one first?”
“With all due respect, fuck you up the ass, sir.”
“Thank you for the offer. Perhaps we’ll talk about that as well.”
And Ed is unexpectedly hauled up by the collar and dragged into Fuhrer Mustang’s office, the door slamming behind them ominously as Roy tosses him onto the couch and stands in front of him with brutal stare that demands answers.
“What is the matter with you?”
“I don’t see anything different about today than any other day, Mustang.” He lets the second vowel draw out, leaning into his metal hand and refusing to look him in the face. “You piss me off.”
“Normally you don’t throw desks across the room, even when I’m involved.”
Ed shrugs.
“And I was not involved until this moment.”
“I liked it better that way.”
“I understand Alphonse called. Did you two have a fight?”
“None of your business. I’m not talking to you.” The boy stands up and reaches for the door-
“Sit. Back. Down.”
His hand pauses at the tone, but he says nothing, nor does he sit.
“I don’t care if Alphonse calls you at work, but if you’re going to have marital spats, take it elsewhere, and throw your desks away from the heads of my soldiers.”
Ed can’t help but give a sick giggle at the word “marital.” If only he knew...
“And the next time you’re sick in a restroom that other people use, please aim better.”
The giggling continues, sounding more and more ill, making Ed’s stomach twist even as he can’t stop it.
“Next time, I’ll aim for you.”
Roy is silent for a moment, then walks to his desk and picks up the phone.
“I’m calling a car. You are taking the rest of today off.”
Ed turns sharply at that, the word “NO!” sounding as nauseous as he feels.
The Fuhrer’s hand stops midway through a number.
“No?”
“I...” Ed swallows hard. “I’m fine. I don’t...I don’t want to go home. I can work.”
A brief moment, and then Roy’s hand finishes that number, and moves on to the next.
“You are clearly unwell. You are taking the rest of today off, and that is final.”
“NO!” Ed slams his hand on the cradle of the phone, efficiently destroying it. “I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME!”
Roy raises an eyebrow, more than concerned now.
“Fullmetal...what on earth did Alphonse say to you?”
What did he say?
What did he say, indeed.
Roy has to grab for his wastebasket very quickly as Ed is sick again.
2.2
That night was not the first, but it was the one that showed him he was too far gone to ever even look back.
Not that Ed liked to look back at anything.
He didn’t care much for social drinking, and certainly not with his fellow military dogs, but Al had promised to meet them at the bar when they got off work, and who was Ed to resist seeing his brother a few minutes earlier than scheduled?
It had bothered him, then, that Al was not immediately forthcoming. In fact, as he sat down and waved away a menu, he couldn’t see Al anywhere, and he worried for a moment that perhaps the younger boy had gotten lost, or had stopped to pick up a lost kitten that had subsequently given him rabies.
Havoc’s elbow in his side had interrupted his attempts to remember what the symptoms of rabies were.
“Isn’t that Al?”
“Huh?”
Ed looked up, and around, seeing a crowd of people gathered at the side of the room by the Friday night band. Grumbling, he stood on his chair to see over their heads, and-
The whole room went dim, and-
Every voice was silenced, and-
Al.
He’d seen Al move similarly to that many times, in many childhood fights, in many grown-up sparring matches, but it had never seemed so...blatantly lovely before. It was effortless, smooth, succinct and perfect, and he swung his partner out and around so she returned to him with her back to his chest, their movements synchronized even at the speed they were dancing.
And the smile on Alphonse Elric’s face was the smile that broke a thousand hearts.
Ed stopped breathing, his hand on his chest, gripping the lapel of his uniform as he watched one bead of sweat trace down Al’s cheek and fall to his shoulder...
He wasn’t sure if he’d fallen as well or sat down too quickly, but the wooden seat was suddenly hard against his behind, and he was reaching for someone else’s drink, tossing it back in one long go as if it would quench the unbearable, burning ache that had abruptly taken over his body.
It wasn’t fair for this to happen to him in public. In private, where he could be alone with his dirty, awful, terrible, wonderful thoughts...that was different. But here? How dare Al be such a good dancer! How dare he sweat and grin like that for a stupid girl! How dare he be sexy beyond all fairness and reason and how dare he let anyone else see because he was...he belonged to-
“Brother!”
Ed nearly choked on the glass as Al plopped down in the empty chair beside him.
“I didn’t see you come in, I’m sorry! I guess I got here before you, and there was a band and-”
“Uh-huh.”
“Will you come meet my friend?”
“What friend?” Ed had decided the best course of action was to not look at his brother at all, but to rather stare at anything else in the room.
“My friend Sarah. I was dancing with her. She’s from my class. She’s very good, won’t you-”
“Yeah yeah, fine, will you sit still? Jeez, I’ve been working all day and I don't-”
“Brother-”
“-some random girl who’ll probably fawn all over me once she realizes who-”
“Brother-”
“-plus you stink, Al, do you mind-”
“BROTHER!”
Ed fell quiet, turning the glass around and around in his hands.
“What?”
“Will you look at me?”
It hurt.
It hurt to look.
It hurt to raise his eyes and look at Al’s face -flushed and hot and practically begging to be kissed, and then more than kissed- but he did, and the earnestness and eagerness in the bronze eyes that met him grabbed his heart like a bitter vice.
“Will you come dance with me? Please? I can teach you how.”
It would have felt too good to say yes, too easy, too...something. But it felt just as nice to say,
“No.”
“Just a little? Please, I-”
“No.” Repeating it gave it power, made him think that perhaps he could master the ache, that by hurting Al he could hurt himself enough to focus on a different pain.
“Oh. I...sorry. Sorry, brother.”
And after Al slowly got up and turned away, Ed grabbed his coat and walked swiftly out the door, his steady gait carrying him home, up the stairs and into the bedroom with two beds, two hateful beds that he wanted to be one and before he could help himself he was lying on Al’s bed, legs spread wide, hips working up and down as his hand worked up and down, thinking about nothing but and everything that was Al.
And it wasn’t the first time for that either, nor was it the last.
3.1
No one questions why Fullmetal spends the rest of the day lying on Fuhrer Mustang’s couch, pale and curled into a ball next to a bucket.
It’s probably better not to know, anyway.
The day slowly fades, amber light tracing across the room until it reaches the ceiling, gives a gasp, and vanishes into night. The Fuhrer turns on a lamp and continues working, and as ghastly as he is feeling, Ed can’t help but finally doze off, only to be woken by a hand on his shoulder what seems like seconds later.
“Fullmetal.”
“G’way.”
“Fullmetal, you have to go home now.”
“I told you before.”Ed rolls over, facing the back of the couch. “I don’t want to go home.”
“You don’t have a choice. I’m going home now, and I’m not leaving you alone in my office.”
“Then I’ll sleep in the hall.”
“Go home, Fullmetal. You are stubborn and sick, and if you died during the night, it would be hell to clean up.”
Ed wants to fire off another sassy retort, but there are new footsteps in the room, and he can hear the distinctive voice of Hawkeye whispering quietly to Roy.
“Fullmetal.”
“Sir?”
“Alphonse is here to pick you up. You now have even less of a choice. Go home.”
Ed turns so quickly that he falls off the couch, knocking over the bucket -which is thankfully empty.
“You bastard! Did you fucking call him?!”
Roy’s patience has obviously been tried to the limit, and reaches down to grab Ed’s collar for the second time that day and push him towards the door.
“Contrary to what you may think, I don’t actually spend every minute thinking of ways to thwart you.” They are outside the office now, and Ed can see an all too painful silhouette down the hall. “He came of his own accord. Go HOME.”
Roy turns, locking his office, then follows Hawkeye in the opposite direction, leaving the hallway devoid of any life but Elrics.
Ed stands exactly where Roy put him, staring firmly at the floor, trying not to let the tremors of tiredness, sickness and hurt show.
“Brother!” Al’s voice is scolding once he gets close enough. “You look terrible!”
His brother does not respond.
“You should have come home if you were sick.”
Silence.
“Why didn’t you come home?”
Again.
“Why didn’t you tell me on the phone?”
“Would...” They are both surprised to hear him speaking. “Would that have changed anything you said to me?”
Al blinks.
“I...”
“Don’t answer.” Ed is sweeping past him, suddenly eager to get home and bury himself in sheets and pillows, smothering out everything but misery. “Don’t say anything.”
Al follows, silent and obedient.
3.2
There was music dripping out the window when he came home, which was odd, Ed thought, because he didn’t remember them owning a record player.
Pushing into the house, he draped his military coat on the rack, looking around the living room and finding a record spinning alone.
“Al? You here?”
“I’m here!” The younger boy leaned out of the kitchen, smiles and aprons and a streak of some something red-ish across his cheek. “How was your day?”
“Fine, where did the record player come from?”
“Sarah lent it to me.”
“That’s dandy, why?”
“Why do you think” He darted back into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder. “I’m going to get you to dance with me whether you like it or not.”
“No fucking way.”
“We’ll have dinner first, and then you’ll see.”
“How many goddamn times do I have to say ‘no,’ Al?”
“I’m going to wear you down eventually.”
“Nn.” Ed dragged the needle off the record with a nasty “WRRP!” and sat down at his place at the table.
Al, who had been bouncing around the kitchen, stopped quite suddenly and turned.
“Brother...why do you hate dancing so much?”
“I don’t hate it when other people do it.”
“Just when I do it?”
“Just when you don’t fucking listen me when I say I don’t want to! What the hell’s your problem? Leave me alone about it.”
The younger boy nodded, his shoulders slumping at he turned to the stove.
“I promise I won’t ever ask you again.”
“Good.”
Dinner was a quiet affair, both brothers only picking at their meals before Al stood up.
“I’m going to go return Sarah’s record player. She’s probably missing it, and there’s no sense in borrowing it if...anyway.”
“Fine, fine.” Ed had gotten up from the table and gone to the book shelf, flipping through a random book so as not to have to recognize that he’d hurt Al’s feelings.
“I might...I might stay and practice some things with her. Is that all right?”
“Sure, fine, whatever.”
Al left a few moments later, and neither of them said good bye.