I'll Love You More, Zwischenzeit I
Title: I’ll Love You More
Chapter: Zwischenzeit I
Previous: 1
Genre: Drama/Romance
Rating: ahhh, lets see. There will be sexual situations but no graphic sex. In later chapters there will be lots of violence. But this chapter is entirely safe.
Spoilers: for the entire series.
Summary: Alphonse Heiderich is alone
Note: "Zwischenzeit" is German for "Interlude"
Zwischenzeit I: Left Behind
Dear Mom,
I’m so sorry for not writing you for such a long time. I was in an accident with the rocket and have been in the hospital for a while. Don’t worry, I am going to be all right.
He stared down at the page. Was he going to be all right?
I was thinking about coming home for a while until-
Until what? Until the heavy silence in his Munich apartment stopped making him feel stifled, choked, dead, lonely, sick, miserable, crazy-
-until I am feeling better. I missed seeing you last Christmas .
Alphonse bit his lip, twisting the pencil between his fingers for a moment before signing the letter, folding it in threes and placing it in the already addressed envelope. He glanced over at the red coat splayed out on his bed, that strange garment his twin had arrived wearing, the one with the alchemy symbol on the back, and sighed, turning away and opening the hall closet. He pulled out his own plain brown coat.
On his way out the door he picked up the cane he had left the hospital with, and turned his key in the lock before starting down the street to the post. It was temporary, the doctors said, this cane, this difficulty moving. His body had sustained tremendous trauma; it was a miracle he was even alive, let alone up and walking. He caught sympathetic glances, cut-off stares and curious eyes as he slowly made his way down the sidewalk, like Ed, he thought, not for the first time. Ed had told him he didn’t care about being stared at; humans were curious by nature after all, and he wondered if in time he wouldn’t mind it either.
But in time, his mind chided, you will be fine. The chill autumn air bit into his cheeks, causing his pale skin to redden with the cold, and he shoved his hand further into his coat pocket. Tri-colored leaves blew around his feet, crunching under his steps, and the sky was blank, whitish-grey, glaring through the empty trees that lined the street. Yes, he would always have scars, he knew; the rocket had not only crashed but burned, and he would have been dead for certain if some unknown savior had not pulled him out. But the scars were well-hidden under his clothes, and what did it matter anyway? There was no one here to see them anymore.
“Alphonse,” the postmaster greeted him kindly.
The post office door slammed shut behind him with a whoosh, the chill air flooding in and dissipating all at once in the slightly warmer building. He set the letter on the counter. “To Hirligen, please,” he said, his voice breathless.
The man weighed the letter, stamping it and taking his money before looking at him critically. “You’re looking better, my boy,” he said encouragingly.
Alphonse merely shrugged. “Slowly,” he agreed with a half smile, turning to leave without saying goodbye.
The worst was this sense that he had lost his mind. It was that horrible loneliness of the big city magnified tenfold, pressing in on him again now that Ed was gone. Dead, his scientist’s mind told him. Gone, corrected his heart. Logic told him that Ed had died in that explosion over a year ago, and that he alone had worked sleepless nights to finish the rocket that had been their goal, and that he alone had been in it when it crashed. It was the only possible course of events. There had never been another Alphonse. No one remembered seeing him with someone else all that time. Mr. Silleman, the government’s man, had never met him. Seen him, yes, but never spoken to him. The other Alphonse kept to himself. No use meeting people, he had told him. He was leaving soon anyway.
Like Ed. The real reason Ed hadn’t wanted to get close to anyone. Close to him. That must have been why, because to believe otherwise was to acknowledge that Ed did not want to be close to him because he had known something that Alphonse had not: he was, if not the very same, at least another version of his own brother. That would mean confirming his original impression of Ed, the first day he saw him in the library: this boy Ed was his brother Edward, who had died years before. He told himself then that that was impossible, it was purely a coincidence, and he told himself the same thing now, because he could not think of it any other way. He had loved his brother, but he never wanted to be his brother’s lover.
But Ed knew all along, that voice in his mind pressed. Ed knew.
Although he was alone in his apartment, simply standing in the living room, not even staring at anything, just standing, he imagined he could feel them both, both brothers, one on either side of him, both saying the same thing, in the same sad voice.
All the many mistakes I’ve made, I made out of love, and that makes them all the greater.
Chapter Two: The Truth Will Out
Chapter: Zwischenzeit I
Previous: 1
Genre: Drama/Romance
Rating: ahhh, lets see. There will be sexual situations but no graphic sex. In later chapters there will be lots of violence. But this chapter is entirely safe.
Spoilers: for the entire series.
Summary: Alphonse Heiderich is alone
Note: "Zwischenzeit" is German for "Interlude"
Zwischenzeit I: Left Behind
Dear Mom,
I’m so sorry for not writing you for such a long time. I was in an accident with the rocket and have been in the hospital for a while. Don’t worry, I am going to be all right.
He stared down at the page. Was he going to be all right?
I was thinking about coming home for a while until-
Until what? Until the heavy silence in his Munich apartment stopped making him feel stifled, choked, dead, lonely, sick, miserable, crazy-
-until I am feeling better. I missed seeing you last Christmas .
Alphonse bit his lip, twisting the pencil between his fingers for a moment before signing the letter, folding it in threes and placing it in the already addressed envelope. He glanced over at the red coat splayed out on his bed, that strange garment his twin had arrived wearing, the one with the alchemy symbol on the back, and sighed, turning away and opening the hall closet. He pulled out his own plain brown coat.
On his way out the door he picked up the cane he had left the hospital with, and turned his key in the lock before starting down the street to the post. It was temporary, the doctors said, this cane, this difficulty moving. His body had sustained tremendous trauma; it was a miracle he was even alive, let alone up and walking. He caught sympathetic glances, cut-off stares and curious eyes as he slowly made his way down the sidewalk, like Ed, he thought, not for the first time. Ed had told him he didn’t care about being stared at; humans were curious by nature after all, and he wondered if in time he wouldn’t mind it either.
But in time, his mind chided, you will be fine. The chill autumn air bit into his cheeks, causing his pale skin to redden with the cold, and he shoved his hand further into his coat pocket. Tri-colored leaves blew around his feet, crunching under his steps, and the sky was blank, whitish-grey, glaring through the empty trees that lined the street. Yes, he would always have scars, he knew; the rocket had not only crashed but burned, and he would have been dead for certain if some unknown savior had not pulled him out. But the scars were well-hidden under his clothes, and what did it matter anyway? There was no one here to see them anymore.
“Alphonse,” the postmaster greeted him kindly.
The post office door slammed shut behind him with a whoosh, the chill air flooding in and dissipating all at once in the slightly warmer building. He set the letter on the counter. “To Hirligen, please,” he said, his voice breathless.
The man weighed the letter, stamping it and taking his money before looking at him critically. “You’re looking better, my boy,” he said encouragingly.
Alphonse merely shrugged. “Slowly,” he agreed with a half smile, turning to leave without saying goodbye.
The worst was this sense that he had lost his mind. It was that horrible loneliness of the big city magnified tenfold, pressing in on him again now that Ed was gone. Dead, his scientist’s mind told him. Gone, corrected his heart. Logic told him that Ed had died in that explosion over a year ago, and that he alone had worked sleepless nights to finish the rocket that had been their goal, and that he alone had been in it when it crashed. It was the only possible course of events. There had never been another Alphonse. No one remembered seeing him with someone else all that time. Mr. Silleman, the government’s man, had never met him. Seen him, yes, but never spoken to him. The other Alphonse kept to himself. No use meeting people, he had told him. He was leaving soon anyway.
Like Ed. The real reason Ed hadn’t wanted to get close to anyone. Close to him. That must have been why, because to believe otherwise was to acknowledge that Ed did not want to be close to him because he had known something that Alphonse had not: he was, if not the very same, at least another version of his own brother. That would mean confirming his original impression of Ed, the first day he saw him in the library: this boy Ed was his brother Edward, who had died years before. He told himself then that that was impossible, it was purely a coincidence, and he told himself the same thing now, because he could not think of it any other way. He had loved his brother, but he never wanted to be his brother’s lover.
But Ed knew all along, that voice in his mind pressed. Ed knew.
Although he was alone in his apartment, simply standing in the living room, not even staring at anything, just standing, he imagined he could feel them both, both brothers, one on either side of him, both saying the same thing, in the same sad voice.
All the many mistakes I’ve made, I made out of love, and that makes them all the greater.
Chapter Two: The Truth Will Out