Skeletons Chapter Two
Another reposted chapter... X3
Disclaimer: Don’t do drugs. They’ll make you think crazy things. Like that you own things you don’t. (Drugs suck; I hate them and those who choose to use them.)
Author’s Note: All right. I had a lot of questions in my reviews for last chapter that desperately need to be addressed. So here we go! XD
PLEASE NOTE THAT, AS I’VE NOW ANSWERED THESE QUESTIONS, I WILL IGNORE YOUR REVIEW IF YOU ASK ANYTHING SIMILAR IN THE FUTURE. OKAY? SO BE SURE TO READ THESE FAQs IF YOU’RE CURIOUS ABOUT ANYTHING.
QUESTION ONE: “How old are Edward and Alex (now)?”
ANSWER: I know I didn’t state it directly, but their ages were in chapter one. Our Ed died ten years previous, when Ed Jr. was seven. That would make him seventeen. Alexander is a year younger, making him sixteen. (See below for other Ed -n- Alex info.)
QUESTION TWO: “Huh? But if Al is in the picture, why is Ed writing letters to him like he’s gone…? Wasn’t he with Ed at the end of the movie?”
ANSWER: The journal entries start before Al shows up in our world. I think Ed and Al spend about three years apart; it had only been two months after letter one. :)
QUESTION THREE: “Did you know the dates are off? It was 1921/1917/19etc.”
ANSWER: . . . Umm. . . *cough*
In any case, I did some calculations. If Ed was 100 in 2005, he was born in 1905. That means, if he was 18 at the beginning of the movie, it’d start in 1923. So yeah, I was wrong. He’s still… what, 16 at the end of the series? (Yeah, then they were apart about 3 years.) Therefore, the journal should start in 1921. So those of you who said 1921-you win!
I’ll change that for this chapter, and go back and fix chapter one when I can. :)
QUESTION FOUR: “Why’d you spell Heiderich’s name: ‘Hendrich?’
ANSWER: ‘Cause I made a mistake…? Eh heh. Sorry. (feels stupid)
QUESTION FIVE: (Well, okay, it wasn’t really a question-but it popped up a LOT and REALLY frustrated me) “Al is not Alexander; he’s Alphonse.”
ANSWER: . . . what? Did you guys even BOTHER reading the chapter before reviewing? Not to be rude or anything, sorry, but that was my initial reaction. Or maybe some of you were just confused.
Okay.
Edward Elric senior-the Fullmetal Alchemist-has a little brother named Alphonse; yes. He calls him Al; yes. THIS Al is the one Ed is writing to. Okay? Okay.
Edward Elric junior-the seventeen year old of our world-has a little brother named ALEXANDER. NOT ALPHONSE. Why do you guys think his name is Alphonse, too? Because Ed Jr. calls him Al? Want to know the reasoning behind that?
EDWARD ELRIC JUNIOR IS LAZY.
Yup. Calling Alexander ‘Alex’ is too much work. So he shortened it to Al. (“Alex” - “ex” = “Al.”) It was something I decided on when coming up with their characters. In fact, here are little summaries of our new characters, since some of you were wondering about them, anyway:
Edward Simon Elric-
Nickname: Ed (and Alex sometimes calls him ‘Brother.’)
Age: Seventeen.
Appearance: Tall (his grandpa would be jealous); golden eyes; long blonde hair he wears in a ponytail (or, sometimes, down).
Favorite Color: Blue.
Favorite Food: Pizza with sour cream (it’s good!).
Favorite Book: Howl’s Moving Castle (Diane Wayne Jones)
Sexuality: Gay all the way. XD (Don’t tell me you couldn’t see that coming.)
Random Quirk: Ed can’t stand the smell of French toast.
Other Info: A B-average student with no real interest except the arts, Edward loves acting, painting, and (when no one is listening) singing in the shower. He also enjoys playing sports like basketball and football-though just for fun. (Especially against Al; it’s another excuse to pick a friendly fight with him.) He’s a very protective older brother, and has been known to beat up guys who stare at his sister (or brother (cough)) for too long. (Much to Rosalie’s horror, of course.) Doesn’t think too much of good ‘ol dad, though-he’s sorta a homophobe (dunno how that happened). Overall, however, Ed’s an easy-going, fun-loving kind of guy who enjoys lazy afternoons and naps.
Alexander James Elric-
Nickname: Alex (and Ed calls him ‘Al.’)
Age: Sixteen.
Appearance: Average height; silvery-hazel eyes; long auburn hair that he wears in a ponytail.
Favorite Color: Green.
Favorite Food: Beef ramen.
Favorite Book: The DaVinci Code (Dan Brown)
Sexuality: Currently wading in that river in Egypt-Denial. ;)
Random Quirk: Al sleeps with a stuffed kangaroo named Bunny. (Received and named when he was four.)
Other Info: Alexander is smart. Boasting a low-A average in most of his classes, he only ever fails because of his hatred for school. (He finds it boring.) His interests lie in history, math, and chemistry, but he’s not sure what sort of career he wants to pursue. He kicked around the idea of being a vet for a while (he loves cats), but also thinks being a teacher might be nice. (He could mix things up a bit.) In his free time, Alex loves to read and play with his kitten, Alchemy. He also enjoys air hockey and other non-physical sports, because he can beat his older brother in them. (He’s also a master poker player.) He and Rosalie, being the more sensible children in the family, are united in keeping their irrational oldest sibling out of trouble-other then that, though, they don’t talk much. But he’s always there for her if she needs him. Alexander is also the most mature of the three Elric kids, so if mom or dad needs something done (though they give the responsibility to Edward), Alex, being somewhat of a perfectionist, knows it’s up to him to make sure it’s done well.
Rosalie Catharine Elric-
Nickname: Rosie (or ‘Squirt/Geek,’ whenever Ed is feeling playful.)
Age: Fourteen.
Appearance: Average height; pale blue eyes; long, pale blonde hair that she wears in a ponytail, pigtails, or French braid.
Favorite Color(s): Lavender and gray.
Favorite Food: Gummy worms.
Favorite Book: The Mediator series (Meg Cabot)
Sexuality: Bi.
Random Quirk: Rosie finds glasses irresistibly sexy.
Other Info: Rosalie Elric, the delicate flower of the Elric household, is loud, opinionated, and bossy. With grades somewhere between her brothers and a social life that is unusually busy, Rosie is almost never around. However, whenever she has a little down time, she enjoys reading magazines, trying on makeup, watching anime, and building computers from scratch. She is an electronics geek-and proud of her ability to hack into any system. She is also the president of the manga/anime club at her middle school and is a fervent shonen-ai supporter. She kicks ass in DDR. As for her relationship with her brothers-she loves them, but she hates that they treat her like a child. Therefore, she goes out of her way to abuse them, like any good sister should. ;)
Whew! Okay, I think that’s all. XD Now then, after all, that, who’s ready for a new chapter? ;) (Though this A/N was almost like a chapter in and of itself…)
XXX
X
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Occasionally, I’m asked when I knew. When I first realized that I was “different.” Usually I’m asked this by girls. Usually sobbing girls. Usually at the most inopportune time-like in the crowded hallway between classes, right before the warning bell. And let me tell you, it sucks having to try and explain yourself (as gently as possible) to a crying classmate over all that screaming, yelling, name-calling, and general insanity.
But they insist that they want to know. Now. So that they have something to gossip with their friends about, I guess. Or to make sure I’m not just shooting them down ‘cause I’m a jerk.
So in the middle of all that screaming, yelling, name-calling, and general insanity, I am forced (quite frequently), to bare my soul and jump (for the umpteenth time) out of that metaphorical closet.
I kinda hate it. And c’mon- you’d think the whole school would know by now. (Really, I’m starting to get the feeling that they just like hearing me say it.)
Yes, world. I’m gay.
And I’ve known it for years.
It wasn’t so bad when I was little; when all the boys hated girls. You could just mark off your distaste for touching as a fear of cooties. But even as I grew older, and all the other guys started whispering about “so-and-so’s badass rack,” I felt no physical attraction for the opposite sex. Sure, there are some pretty ones out there-and some really awesome ones who I consider great friends-but when it comes to lust and love?
Nope. Sorry, honey, but I’m not interested.
And I’ve always been comfortably aware of this fact. Comfortably aware and unashamed, I’m proud to say. I’ve never been afraid to share my sexual preference with others, either- everyone knows homophobes are really the ‘gayest’ of us all.
In any case, people sorta teased me at first, I suppose, but then they discovered that even a gay kid’s fist in your face hurts like hell. So they shut up. Since then, I’ve never had any problems making or keeping friends.
In fact, there’s really only one problem (apart from all the crying girls in noisy hallways) with this entire situation. My being gay, that is. One lanky, auburn, funny, adorable, nerdy, beautiful problem.
Alexander Elric.
My little brother.
X
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XXX
Skeletons
XXX
Alex looked as if he’d just been slapped. Or, perhaps, as if he’d almost been run over by a train-his hands trembled, his face paled, his mouth hung open in a perfect little ‘o’.
Edward, on the other hand; lounging like a contented cat beside him; continued chuckling, languidly resting his chin in his palm. “That certainly is interesting,” Ed purred into the silence, tawny eyes flashing in cool amusement. “I wonder if he ever got any from his dearly beloved. . . ?”
“Brother!” Alexander barked, snapping back to life with a tiny retching noise, cheeks flaming. “That’s entirely inappropriate! Besides, there’s no way Grandpa could have been gay!”
The elder arched a nonchalant eyebrow, twirling a loose strand of hair around one long finger. He seemed torn between curiosity and boredom. “Oh? Why not?”
“Because people weren’t gay back then,” Alex muttered, curling tightly in upon himself, staring down at the closed journal. It was almost as if he were pouting. . .
Edward just laughed again. “Don’t be stupid,” he softly chided, though his voice held no bite. He was still grinning, after all-as if this whole situation was one big joke. “There have been homosexuals since the beginning of time. And that never used to be a bad thing; not until the modern era, anyway. Just look at the Romans. . . I hear they even encouraged it.” Ed’s smile lengthened sweetly, unperturbed by his brother’s wide-eyed stare. “Men fight harder in battle if they’re standing next to their lover,” he calmly explained. “Generals liked to play off of that fact.”
“. . . oh.”
The brunette’s pink cheeks darkened considerably, looking pointedly away. “Well. . . true as that may be. . . he. . . he just couldn’t have!” Al insisted once more, more vehemently this time. “I mean, c’mon. That letter-the one where he’s drunk-”
“-But at least out of the closet-”
“- in it, he’s talking about his little brother!” Alex finished, ignoring Ed’s teasing interjection. The former continued to look stubbornly deterred, poking the book as if it were a large, rectangular button. “His brother!”
Again-much to Alexander’s shock- his sibling simply shrugged. Or tried to, but it was a difficult move to perform while resting on one’s side. “So?” the blonde then verbalized around a yawn. “There’s a name for that. It’s called incest.”
“I’m not stupid; I know the term!”
“Well, if there’s a term, it means it’s not unheard of. Odd, perhaps, in this day and age . . . but lots of ancient cultures considered incest a way of life. The Egyptian princes and princess, for example, were only ever permitted to marry each other, as deity are only allowed to procreate with other deity.” Ed rolled over a bit, so that he lay sprawled on his back rather than his side.
…It was as if they were discussing the weather.
Alex continued to stare at his older sibling like he’d lost his mind. But… ‘He has a point.’ “Yeah, maybe,” Al grudgingly agreed, though not without a thick undertone of exasperation, “but it’s illegal nowadays- for good reason. Ever heard of the genetic problems it causes? Do we want our society swarming with deformed babies?”
Edward snorted, his eyebrow giving an irritated tick. “LOOK, Al,” he then drawled, pushing himself to a crouch. “I’m not encouraging OR condoning the action. I’m simply stating it the way it is. After all, it’s not like you can change what Grandpa felt. But seriously, Alex? Your retort is lacking in the sensibility department. Not everyone is going around harboring the desire to make out with their brothers and/or sisters. So don’t worry, the world’s stupid gene pool is safe.”
“…” Alexander flushed, feeling a little dumb; avoiding his brother’s cold gaze. ‘What’s HIS problem, all of the sudden?’ Why was he being so uptight about this?
But before he could ask, Ed stood- stalking pointedly towards the door; pausing only to cast one last withering look over his shoulder. “And Al?
I don’t think two guys would have to worry about making deformed babies.”
And he was gone. Presumably to attack his basement art studio, like he usually did when annoyed. Though what had irked him this time was a mystery to Alex. After all, it wasn’t like they didn’t have disagreements every day… ‘Maybe I was fighting this too hard,’ Alexander reasoned, still curled in a tight ball. He poked the journal once more, for good measure. ‘I mean, I guess I was kind of close-minded. . . and it’s true: it’s not like I can change what Grandpa felt, either way. Maybe I should apologize. . .’
But in the end, he decided against it. For now, anyhow. His mind was too full of other thoughts-like Grandpa and the journal and Ed’s words.
‘He can even make incest sound okay. . .’
And no, his heart did NOT just ‘flutter.’
Of course. . . this whole internal debate could prove to be a giant waste of time. What if Grandpa Elric really was drunk-and only drunk? Maybe he didn’t realize what he was writing. . . ?
. . . maybe Alex was just making excuses to read on?
That, in all likelihood, was probably the case.
But that didn’t stop him from toeing open the leather-bound volume, prepared (perhaps even anxious) to read on.
X
May, 1921
Dear Al,
My head hurts. Heiderich says I deserve it, and that if I don’t stop being so reckless the university won’t fund my projects anymore. Which is probably true. In any case, I didn’t bother thinking up any sarcastic retort to throw back at him-on account of the fact that it hurts even more when I try to think. But writing isn’t that bad, so here I am, writing.
I know, I know. I can hear you in my head, Al-‘Heiderich is right, you shouldn’t be drinking.’ It’s true, I shouldn’t. And maybe I don’t really want to. Maybe me doing this is just some sick form of rebellion. After all, since you’re not here to stop me, what should it matter if I do?
Or maybe I’m still drunk.
…I hope that we find each other soon.
Heiderich told me that he may have thought of a way. It has to do with what he’s researching-rockets. He thinks that, maybe, our world is just beyond the sky. With a rocket, I might make it there. Then I can see you again.
When he said this, I felt a lot of different stuff at once. Mostly happy… but curious, too. And then I heard myself ask the question that I’d been keeping inside for a long time: “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”
Because, of course, Al, you can understand why I stay with him-he reminds me of you. Your smile, your smell, your kindness. He’s nothing more than an imitation (though a person of his own right), but it’s enough to keep me sane.
Why does he tolerate me?
He grinned when I asked this, as if he’d been expecting it, and set down his coffee and paper in the way only he does-folding the news into a neat square to serve as a coaster.
Then, very calmly, he nearly killed me with shock: “Because you remind me of someone I once loved.”
I pressed him for information. My stomach hurt.
His name was Edward Cullison. He lived in a place called London with his father, Hohenheim. He and Heiderich had been childhood friends; had played together when Hohenheim traveled to Germany to do business with other politicians. But Heiderich hadn’t heard from him for nearly a year. . . he’d read that Cullison had died in an air raid.
…I should have told him that it was my fault. That if I hadn’t been inside Cullison’s body at the time of the attack, he might still be alive. But the words got stuck in my throat-and all I could say was that I was sorry.
He only smiled. I think he knew. That I was to blame, I mean. But still, he only smiled.
Maybe I remind him of Cullison, just as he reminds me of you, Al. But is that a good thing or bad thing? One can only live so long chasing dreams of the past, after all…
I wonder, will my life expire before I catch my own?
… I need to go puke.
-Ed
X
The basement was Edward’s.
This wasn’t a written rule, of course. The basement used to belong to all three of the Elric children: serving as an unfinished play room when they were little. But as Ed got older, his projects bigger, and his messes messier, Alex and Rosie had surrendered the remainder of the space to their ambitious big brother as a 9th birthday present. And he had taken over.
It hadn’t changed much since that fateful day. The wooden walls remained a cheerful shade of chestnut brown- with slate-gray cement serving as the floor. It was deemed ‘unfinished’ by parents and realtors alike, and somewhat cold (temperature-wise); with one little window to the backyard serving as a fire escape if worse came to worse.
But the décor was unquestionably the product of Ed’s countless endeavors.
Five art easels, a cracked pottery wheel, and countless crooked bookshelves littered the room-tables covered in half-finished canvases, torn sketchbook pages, charcoal, chalk, pencils of every color, oil pastels, acrylic paints, wooden shavings, small adjustable models, soapstone, pallets, mixed and dried paints, dirty cups, brushes of twenty different sizes, inks, glosses, scissors, plaster and knifes. Paint splatters encrusted sections of the wall and floor, clay stains permanently ground into the framework. All of this glowed happily in the warm, bright light of three, yellow, pull-string light bulbs.
The basement was Edward’s home-inside-his-home. He loved it there; his own tiny world of color and texture. It was always quiet… it helped him think.
He did a lot of thinking there.
“Ed…?”
“!” The eldest boy jumped a bit in surprise, turning with a flutter of his heavily-stained lab coat. (It served as a convenient, if not multi-colored, apron.) “Why, if it isn’t little Rosie,” he then vocalized, smiling pleasantly as he pulled out a handkerchief, wiping down his thin-bristled paintbrush. The pale cloth was soon stained a dark jade-green. “Looking unusually beautiful, I might add.”
The youngest Elric sibling grinned from her seat on the basement steps, her perfectly lined eyes crinkling with delight at the praise. “I’m going out,” she announced gleefully, smoothing down her long white socks and showing off her freshly-painted black nails. “On a date.”
Ed arched an eyebrow, moving away from his easel. Putting down his current brush, he made a show of choosing a new one from the box on the card table. “Oh? With who?” he asked lightly, as if he didn’t really care. But this only made Rosalie’s smile widen into a smirk.
“Amy,” she sang, flipping her long, silky locks over her shoulder. Tonight she was wearing it in a high pony tail, held up with a lavender satin ribbon. “You know her. The bookworm with wavy brown hair? Uber cute? Her older sisters go to your school.”
“I know her.” Edward smiled faintly, selecting a thicker brush as he straddled a fold-out chair, staring directly at his little sister. “And I’m happy for you… though I’m beginning to think that mom and dad are going to be highly disappointed on the grandkid front.”
Rosalie laughed, waving a heavily bangled hand. “Don’t worry, I haven’t sworn off guys, or anything,” she assured, sky-blue eyes twinkling with mischief and good humor. “In fact, Todd will be with us.”
The elder teen instantly scowled. “Todd. . . ? What, as in Todd Multare? That pyro, flirty kid? NO. I don’t like him-and he’s WAY too old for you.”
“He’s 18!”
“And you’re not,” Ed pointed out. His eyes had hardened considerably; stabbing the air with the tip of his brush. “Hell, neither am I. And I don’t like him.”
“Good thing you’re not dating him, then,” Rosalie retorted coolly, pushing herself to her feet. Unconcernedly brushing off the rear of her jean skirt, she began to stroll forward-towards the unfinished painting Ed had left on his easel. “Speaking of your love life, though. . .” She paused, leaning forward, squinting a bit. (From his chair nearby, Ed caught a whiff of her Sweet Pea perfume.) “Oh my. New flame?” The girl asked innocently, whirling around and jabbing a thumb at the picture. It was no where near completed: just a few light lines traced with thin highlights of shadowed emerald, vibrant turquoise, and peachy-vanilla. But Rosalie had seen enough of her brother’s paintings to know that this was the beginning of a very important portrait… at least, important to Ed.
He only ever used acrylic for the important ones.
“I guess…” Edward replied-albeit a bit hesitantly-resting his chin against the back of his chair; thick black lashes lowering to hide sections of his glowing amber eyes. “…you could say that.”
“It’s good so far.”
He chuckled, though somewhat exasperated. “How can you say that? There’s barely anything there!”
“Maybe,” Rosie beamed, lacing her fingers together behind her back, “but I can tell it’s good. And I’m sure Alex will like it, too, once you’ve finished it.” She paused momentarily, watching for her brother’s reaction. He didn’t say anything, but she was sure she saw his back stiffen a little. That was all she needed to know. “By the way- did you ever show him those other sketches you’d done? Of him, I mean. Of him sleeping and reading in the garden? Because really, Ed, they were beautiful.”
The blonde boy’s face had slowly disappeared into the depths of his crossed arms; the tips of his ears flamed a horrible shade of scarlet. Rosalie smiled. “. . . in that case, you really should.”
“No, I shouldn’t.” His voice was muffled, but clear.
“Yes, you should,” she repeated firmly, frowning slightly. “Really, Ed. Are you a man, or aren’t you?”
“Sexist much?”
“I’m allowed to be,” Rosie sniffed huffily. “I’m a girl.” Then, with a giggle to show that she was only kidding, she glided over to kiss the top of her moody brother’s head. “That said, I’ve gotta get going. Amy’s parents are strict about curfews, so if I wanna get into her pants before nine I need to have left five minutes ago.”
Ed lifted his head half an inch, casting his sister a dry look. “Too much information, Squirt. Too much information. . .” But he ruffled her hair all the same, waving goodbye as she raced up the stairs.
“Oh- AND NO TALKING TO TODD!”
But her only response was the slamming of the front door.
X
June, 1921
Dear Al,
The days are long here-all meshed together to form one never-ending being. Light fades into darkness, darkness merges with light. . . time keeps moving on.
But I feel like I’m being left behind. I don’t care about this world; I don’t care about their inventions; I don’t care about the people. I just want to go home.
I want to leave all of this nothingness behind.
Heiderich and I don’t talk much about anything other than science. I know he wants to ask about you, but he doesn’t. I’m not sure why-perhaps a feeling of decency?
Or maybe he thinks I won’t answer. Which is true, I won’t. I just…
I don’t want him to think that I’m using him, even if I probably am. His kindness, his sympathy-I don’t deserve it. I know that. But I keep on taking it, anyway.
I’m pathetic, Al. I was willing to die for you, but I’m not strong enough to live without you.
I hope that you’re okay.
-Ed
X
Summer air was always sweeter at nighttime in the country, perfumed as it was with spring crests and lilac blossoms. The tall, waving golden grasses that grew in the near distance rustled; the trees which stretched on ‘til forever looked like distant mountains from where their house stood on the hills. Dark clouds rolled peacefully, like ocean waves, as timid stars grew bold.
Alex observed all of this silently, holding the journal in his lap. It was a comfortable weight, pleasantly heavy against his legs. Fingering it quietly, he closed his eyes, rocking slowly back and forth on the porch bench. As the basement belonged to Ed, the porch belonged to Alexander; it was his place to think, to muse, to sort out feelings.
He also felt that it was the most beautiful place in the world.
“So what should we do; how to act? Forget everything; bring in back?” he hummed softly; the words to an old lullaby. His voice quietly echoed over the landscape, in time to the creaking of his swing. “One never should try to rebirth… what was taken away by the Earth…”
His mother’s words; but in reference to what? He’d never understood the song… but it had a calming effect on him, even now, after all these years. Though occasionally, when he was at his most confused, he would wonder what it meant. Did it have a secret story, like Grandpa’s journal?
And speaking of Grandpa’s journal…
“‘Some choices we live not once, but a thousand times over-remembering them for the rest of our lives.’”
“?” Alex straightened, not shocked but still mildly surprised to see Edward in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame; watching him with his relaxed golden gaze. The screen door creaked as the older boy pushed through it, into the night. “What are you talking about?”
Edward shrugged, moving to sit on the cold porch step. Stretching out his long, slender legs, he tilted his head toward the white, waning moon. “It’s a Richard Bard quote. Grandpa told me it, once.” He cast his baby brother a look from over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow. “I figure it might mean more to you than me, seeing as how you’re the one digging through his deep-dark past.”
Alexander flushed a bit, as he always seemed to, nowadays. “I wouldn’t call it deep and dark,” he mumbled, pushing himself gently. His fingers tightened around the spine. “So far, it’s just sorta… sad.”
Ed smirked. “What, no more pre-electricity porn?”
“Brother…”
“I’m just kidding!” He chortled for a moment, amused by Al’s expression, but quickly calmed; sobriety in his tone when he next spoke. “Seriously, though. What do you mean? Why is it sad?”
“…” Alex sighed a bit, staring out over the treetops. “He just… seems really lonely, right now. He keeps talking about how nothing else matters when his brother isn’t with him. I’d be afraid of him committing suicide if I didn’t know for a fact that he lived to be 100.”
Ed considered this, brow furrowing in thought. “Well… he can’t stay that sad for long, I’d think. I mean, we have that picture of them together, right? Eventually, this Al-person is gonna have to show up for their Kodak moment.”
Alexander hadn’t thought of that.
Edward grinned upon noticing Al’s wide-eyed expression. “I’m sure things will turn out okay for them,” he assured, getting to his feet with a scuffle of socks. “So stop dawdling with your reading-I want you to get to the juicy details and give me the play-by-play.”
“Brother!”
The door shut with a bang; Ed raced off laughing.
X
July, 1921
Dear Al,
The days and nights are getting warmer. They remind me of summers back home, only less green. There isn’t a lot of wildlife here in the city-it’s actually rather depressing. But sometimes, when work is slow, Heiderich and I will take a drive through the countryside. I like those days; he’ll listen in the backseat as I tell stories about our adventures and admire the scenery. Then we’ll have a picnic. On days like those, it’s hard to imagine the world as the screwed-up place I know it is.
But it’s nice to have some happy memories.
Work has been getting harder and harder as the days get longer. We never seem to have enough time to get things done; then we’re told we need to do more. Our blueprints for an experimental miniature of the rocket are nearing completion, but Heiderich says we won’t be ready to start constructing even the miniature model for another month or two.
I’d rather be searching for the Philosopher’s Stone again, than to sit around and endure this mindless waiting.
However, in my spare time-on days that aren’t suited for driving- I have had the opportunity to explore the city. There is a police man who’s stationed near the bar; he could be Hughes’ double. And the woman who works at the corner market is identical to Gracia.
I have had a hard time deciding whether or not I like them, because of such things. It’d be so easy to let stories slip if I talked to them. . . to automatically assume that they are the same person on either side of the Gate. But that would be ignorant of me.
Still, there is a part of me that wishes to see more familiar faces-Mustang, Hawkeye, Armstrong, Rose, Winry… hell, even Scar. Seeing them; even though they make me want to cry and laugh and scream and do SOMETHING (but what, I’m not sure) all at once; they still give me such a strange sense of peace.
‘I am not crazy. I did not dream it all.’
Heiderich believes me. I just have to keep believing me.
I know you’re out there, Al.
And I’m going to find you soon.
-Ed
XXX
Yea! That’s the end of chapter two. BIG THANKS to everyone who have been reading-I’m shocked by how many people are already in love with this fic! XD You guys rock! *hugs*
Disclaimer: Don’t do drugs. They’ll make you think crazy things. Like that you own things you don’t. (Drugs suck; I hate them and those who choose to use them.)
Author’s Note: All right. I had a lot of questions in my reviews for last chapter that desperately need to be addressed. So here we go! XD
PLEASE NOTE THAT, AS I’VE NOW ANSWERED THESE QUESTIONS, I WILL IGNORE YOUR REVIEW IF YOU ASK ANYTHING SIMILAR IN THE FUTURE. OKAY? SO BE SURE TO READ THESE FAQs IF YOU’RE CURIOUS ABOUT ANYTHING.
QUESTION ONE: “How old are Edward and Alex (now)?”
ANSWER: I know I didn’t state it directly, but their ages were in chapter one. Our Ed died ten years previous, when Ed Jr. was seven. That would make him seventeen. Alexander is a year younger, making him sixteen. (See below for other Ed -n- Alex info.)
QUESTION TWO: “Huh? But if Al is in the picture, why is Ed writing letters to him like he’s gone…? Wasn’t he with Ed at the end of the movie?”
ANSWER: The journal entries start before Al shows up in our world. I think Ed and Al spend about three years apart; it had only been two months after letter one. :)
QUESTION THREE: “Did you know the dates are off? It was 1921/1917/19etc.”
ANSWER: . . . Umm. . . *cough*
In any case, I did some calculations. If Ed was 100 in 2005, he was born in 1905. That means, if he was 18 at the beginning of the movie, it’d start in 1923. So yeah, I was wrong. He’s still… what, 16 at the end of the series? (Yeah, then they were apart about 3 years.) Therefore, the journal should start in 1921. So those of you who said 1921-you win!
I’ll change that for this chapter, and go back and fix chapter one when I can. :)
QUESTION FOUR: “Why’d you spell Heiderich’s name: ‘Hendrich?’
ANSWER: ‘Cause I made a mistake…? Eh heh. Sorry. (feels stupid)
QUESTION FIVE: (Well, okay, it wasn’t really a question-but it popped up a LOT and REALLY frustrated me) “Al is not Alexander; he’s Alphonse.”
ANSWER: . . . what? Did you guys even BOTHER reading the chapter before reviewing? Not to be rude or anything, sorry, but that was my initial reaction. Or maybe some of you were just confused.
Okay.
Edward Elric senior-the Fullmetal Alchemist-has a little brother named Alphonse; yes. He calls him Al; yes. THIS Al is the one Ed is writing to. Okay? Okay.
Edward Elric junior-the seventeen year old of our world-has a little brother named ALEXANDER. NOT ALPHONSE. Why do you guys think his name is Alphonse, too? Because Ed Jr. calls him Al? Want to know the reasoning behind that?
EDWARD ELRIC JUNIOR IS LAZY.
Yup. Calling Alexander ‘Alex’ is too much work. So he shortened it to Al. (“Alex” - “ex” = “Al.”) It was something I decided on when coming up with their characters. In fact, here are little summaries of our new characters, since some of you were wondering about them, anyway:
Edward Simon Elric-
Nickname: Ed (and Alex sometimes calls him ‘Brother.’)
Age: Seventeen.
Appearance: Tall (his grandpa would be jealous); golden eyes; long blonde hair he wears in a ponytail (or, sometimes, down).
Favorite Color: Blue.
Favorite Food: Pizza with sour cream (it’s good!).
Favorite Book: Howl’s Moving Castle (Diane Wayne Jones)
Sexuality: Gay all the way. XD (Don’t tell me you couldn’t see that coming.)
Random Quirk: Ed can’t stand the smell of French toast.
Other Info: A B-average student with no real interest except the arts, Edward loves acting, painting, and (when no one is listening) singing in the shower. He also enjoys playing sports like basketball and football-though just for fun. (Especially against Al; it’s another excuse to pick a friendly fight with him.) He’s a very protective older brother, and has been known to beat up guys who stare at his sister (or brother (cough)) for too long. (Much to Rosalie’s horror, of course.) Doesn’t think too much of good ‘ol dad, though-he’s sorta a homophobe (dunno how that happened). Overall, however, Ed’s an easy-going, fun-loving kind of guy who enjoys lazy afternoons and naps.
Alexander James Elric-
Nickname: Alex (and Ed calls him ‘Al.’)
Age: Sixteen.
Appearance: Average height; silvery-hazel eyes; long auburn hair that he wears in a ponytail.
Favorite Color: Green.
Favorite Food: Beef ramen.
Favorite Book: The DaVinci Code (Dan Brown)
Sexuality: Currently wading in that river in Egypt-Denial. ;)
Random Quirk: Al sleeps with a stuffed kangaroo named Bunny. (Received and named when he was four.)
Other Info: Alexander is smart. Boasting a low-A average in most of his classes, he only ever fails because of his hatred for school. (He finds it boring.) His interests lie in history, math, and chemistry, but he’s not sure what sort of career he wants to pursue. He kicked around the idea of being a vet for a while (he loves cats), but also thinks being a teacher might be nice. (He could mix things up a bit.) In his free time, Alex loves to read and play with his kitten, Alchemy. He also enjoys air hockey and other non-physical sports, because he can beat his older brother in them. (He’s also a master poker player.) He and Rosalie, being the more sensible children in the family, are united in keeping their irrational oldest sibling out of trouble-other then that, though, they don’t talk much. But he’s always there for her if she needs him. Alexander is also the most mature of the three Elric kids, so if mom or dad needs something done (though they give the responsibility to Edward), Alex, being somewhat of a perfectionist, knows it’s up to him to make sure it’s done well.
Rosalie Catharine Elric-
Nickname: Rosie (or ‘Squirt/Geek,’ whenever Ed is feeling playful.)
Age: Fourteen.
Appearance: Average height; pale blue eyes; long, pale blonde hair that she wears in a ponytail, pigtails, or French braid.
Favorite Color(s): Lavender and gray.
Favorite Food: Gummy worms.
Favorite Book: The Mediator series (Meg Cabot)
Sexuality: Bi.
Random Quirk: Rosie finds glasses irresistibly sexy.
Other Info: Rosalie Elric, the delicate flower of the Elric household, is loud, opinionated, and bossy. With grades somewhere between her brothers and a social life that is unusually busy, Rosie is almost never around. However, whenever she has a little down time, she enjoys reading magazines, trying on makeup, watching anime, and building computers from scratch. She is an electronics geek-and proud of her ability to hack into any system. She is also the president of the manga/anime club at her middle school and is a fervent shonen-ai supporter. She kicks ass in DDR. As for her relationship with her brothers-she loves them, but she hates that they treat her like a child. Therefore, she goes out of her way to abuse them, like any good sister should. ;)
Whew! Okay, I think that’s all. XD Now then, after all, that, who’s ready for a new chapter? ;) (Though this A/N was almost like a chapter in and of itself…)
XXX
X
X
X
Occasionally, I’m asked when I knew. When I first realized that I was “different.” Usually I’m asked this by girls. Usually sobbing girls. Usually at the most inopportune time-like in the crowded hallway between classes, right before the warning bell. And let me tell you, it sucks having to try and explain yourself (as gently as possible) to a crying classmate over all that screaming, yelling, name-calling, and general insanity.
But they insist that they want to know. Now. So that they have something to gossip with their friends about, I guess. Or to make sure I’m not just shooting them down ‘cause I’m a jerk.
So in the middle of all that screaming, yelling, name-calling, and general insanity, I am forced (quite frequently), to bare my soul and jump (for the umpteenth time) out of that metaphorical closet.
I kinda hate it. And c’mon- you’d think the whole school would know by now. (Really, I’m starting to get the feeling that they just like hearing me say it.)
Yes, world. I’m gay.
And I’ve known it for years.
It wasn’t so bad when I was little; when all the boys hated girls. You could just mark off your distaste for touching as a fear of cooties. But even as I grew older, and all the other guys started whispering about “so-and-so’s badass rack,” I felt no physical attraction for the opposite sex. Sure, there are some pretty ones out there-and some really awesome ones who I consider great friends-but when it comes to lust and love?
Nope. Sorry, honey, but I’m not interested.
And I’ve always been comfortably aware of this fact. Comfortably aware and unashamed, I’m proud to say. I’ve never been afraid to share my sexual preference with others, either- everyone knows homophobes are really the ‘gayest’ of us all.
In any case, people sorta teased me at first, I suppose, but then they discovered that even a gay kid’s fist in your face hurts like hell. So they shut up. Since then, I’ve never had any problems making or keeping friends.
In fact, there’s really only one problem (apart from all the crying girls in noisy hallways) with this entire situation. My being gay, that is. One lanky, auburn, funny, adorable, nerdy, beautiful problem.
Alexander Elric.
My little brother.
X
X
X
XXX
Skeletons
XXX
Alex looked as if he’d just been slapped. Or, perhaps, as if he’d almost been run over by a train-his hands trembled, his face paled, his mouth hung open in a perfect little ‘o’.
Edward, on the other hand; lounging like a contented cat beside him; continued chuckling, languidly resting his chin in his palm. “That certainly is interesting,” Ed purred into the silence, tawny eyes flashing in cool amusement. “I wonder if he ever got any from his dearly beloved. . . ?”
“Brother!” Alexander barked, snapping back to life with a tiny retching noise, cheeks flaming. “That’s entirely inappropriate! Besides, there’s no way Grandpa could have been gay!”
The elder arched a nonchalant eyebrow, twirling a loose strand of hair around one long finger. He seemed torn between curiosity and boredom. “Oh? Why not?”
“Because people weren’t gay back then,” Alex muttered, curling tightly in upon himself, staring down at the closed journal. It was almost as if he were pouting. . .
Edward just laughed again. “Don’t be stupid,” he softly chided, though his voice held no bite. He was still grinning, after all-as if this whole situation was one big joke. “There have been homosexuals since the beginning of time. And that never used to be a bad thing; not until the modern era, anyway. Just look at the Romans. . . I hear they even encouraged it.” Ed’s smile lengthened sweetly, unperturbed by his brother’s wide-eyed stare. “Men fight harder in battle if they’re standing next to their lover,” he calmly explained. “Generals liked to play off of that fact.”
“. . . oh.”
The brunette’s pink cheeks darkened considerably, looking pointedly away. “Well. . . true as that may be. . . he. . . he just couldn’t have!” Al insisted once more, more vehemently this time. “I mean, c’mon. That letter-the one where he’s drunk-”
“-But at least out of the closet-”
“- in it, he’s talking about his little brother!” Alex finished, ignoring Ed’s teasing interjection. The former continued to look stubbornly deterred, poking the book as if it were a large, rectangular button. “His brother!”
Again-much to Alexander’s shock- his sibling simply shrugged. Or tried to, but it was a difficult move to perform while resting on one’s side. “So?” the blonde then verbalized around a yawn. “There’s a name for that. It’s called incest.”
“I’m not stupid; I know the term!”
“Well, if there’s a term, it means it’s not unheard of. Odd, perhaps, in this day and age . . . but lots of ancient cultures considered incest a way of life. The Egyptian princes and princess, for example, were only ever permitted to marry each other, as deity are only allowed to procreate with other deity.” Ed rolled over a bit, so that he lay sprawled on his back rather than his side.
…It was as if they were discussing the weather.
Alex continued to stare at his older sibling like he’d lost his mind. But… ‘He has a point.’ “Yeah, maybe,” Al grudgingly agreed, though not without a thick undertone of exasperation, “but it’s illegal nowadays- for good reason. Ever heard of the genetic problems it causes? Do we want our society swarming with deformed babies?”
Edward snorted, his eyebrow giving an irritated tick. “LOOK, Al,” he then drawled, pushing himself to a crouch. “I’m not encouraging OR condoning the action. I’m simply stating it the way it is. After all, it’s not like you can change what Grandpa felt. But seriously, Alex? Your retort is lacking in the sensibility department. Not everyone is going around harboring the desire to make out with their brothers and/or sisters. So don’t worry, the world’s stupid gene pool is safe.”
“…” Alexander flushed, feeling a little dumb; avoiding his brother’s cold gaze. ‘What’s HIS problem, all of the sudden?’ Why was he being so uptight about this?
But before he could ask, Ed stood- stalking pointedly towards the door; pausing only to cast one last withering look over his shoulder. “And Al?
I don’t think two guys would have to worry about making deformed babies.”
And he was gone. Presumably to attack his basement art studio, like he usually did when annoyed. Though what had irked him this time was a mystery to Alex. After all, it wasn’t like they didn’t have disagreements every day… ‘Maybe I was fighting this too hard,’ Alexander reasoned, still curled in a tight ball. He poked the journal once more, for good measure. ‘I mean, I guess I was kind of close-minded. . . and it’s true: it’s not like I can change what Grandpa felt, either way. Maybe I should apologize. . .’
But in the end, he decided against it. For now, anyhow. His mind was too full of other thoughts-like Grandpa and the journal and Ed’s words.
‘He can even make incest sound okay. . .’
And no, his heart did NOT just ‘flutter.’
Of course. . . this whole internal debate could prove to be a giant waste of time. What if Grandpa Elric really was drunk-and only drunk? Maybe he didn’t realize what he was writing. . . ?
. . . maybe Alex was just making excuses to read on?
That, in all likelihood, was probably the case.
But that didn’t stop him from toeing open the leather-bound volume, prepared (perhaps even anxious) to read on.
X
May, 1921
Dear Al,
My head hurts. Heiderich says I deserve it, and that if I don’t stop being so reckless the university won’t fund my projects anymore. Which is probably true. In any case, I didn’t bother thinking up any sarcastic retort to throw back at him-on account of the fact that it hurts even more when I try to think. But writing isn’t that bad, so here I am, writing.
I know, I know. I can hear you in my head, Al-‘Heiderich is right, you shouldn’t be drinking.’ It’s true, I shouldn’t. And maybe I don’t really want to. Maybe me doing this is just some sick form of rebellion. After all, since you’re not here to stop me, what should it matter if I do?
Or maybe I’m still drunk.
…I hope that we find each other soon.
Heiderich told me that he may have thought of a way. It has to do with what he’s researching-rockets. He thinks that, maybe, our world is just beyond the sky. With a rocket, I might make it there. Then I can see you again.
When he said this, I felt a lot of different stuff at once. Mostly happy… but curious, too. And then I heard myself ask the question that I’d been keeping inside for a long time: “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”
Because, of course, Al, you can understand why I stay with him-he reminds me of you. Your smile, your smell, your kindness. He’s nothing more than an imitation (though a person of his own right), but it’s enough to keep me sane.
Why does he tolerate me?
He grinned when I asked this, as if he’d been expecting it, and set down his coffee and paper in the way only he does-folding the news into a neat square to serve as a coaster.
Then, very calmly, he nearly killed me with shock: “Because you remind me of someone I once loved.”
I pressed him for information. My stomach hurt.
His name was Edward Cullison. He lived in a place called London with his father, Hohenheim. He and Heiderich had been childhood friends; had played together when Hohenheim traveled to Germany to do business with other politicians. But Heiderich hadn’t heard from him for nearly a year. . . he’d read that Cullison had died in an air raid.
…I should have told him that it was my fault. That if I hadn’t been inside Cullison’s body at the time of the attack, he might still be alive. But the words got stuck in my throat-and all I could say was that I was sorry.
He only smiled. I think he knew. That I was to blame, I mean. But still, he only smiled.
Maybe I remind him of Cullison, just as he reminds me of you, Al. But is that a good thing or bad thing? One can only live so long chasing dreams of the past, after all…
I wonder, will my life expire before I catch my own?
… I need to go puke.
-Ed
X
The basement was Edward’s.
This wasn’t a written rule, of course. The basement used to belong to all three of the Elric children: serving as an unfinished play room when they were little. But as Ed got older, his projects bigger, and his messes messier, Alex and Rosie had surrendered the remainder of the space to their ambitious big brother as a 9th birthday present. And he had taken over.
It hadn’t changed much since that fateful day. The wooden walls remained a cheerful shade of chestnut brown- with slate-gray cement serving as the floor. It was deemed ‘unfinished’ by parents and realtors alike, and somewhat cold (temperature-wise); with one little window to the backyard serving as a fire escape if worse came to worse.
But the décor was unquestionably the product of Ed’s countless endeavors.
Five art easels, a cracked pottery wheel, and countless crooked bookshelves littered the room-tables covered in half-finished canvases, torn sketchbook pages, charcoal, chalk, pencils of every color, oil pastels, acrylic paints, wooden shavings, small adjustable models, soapstone, pallets, mixed and dried paints, dirty cups, brushes of twenty different sizes, inks, glosses, scissors, plaster and knifes. Paint splatters encrusted sections of the wall and floor, clay stains permanently ground into the framework. All of this glowed happily in the warm, bright light of three, yellow, pull-string light bulbs.
The basement was Edward’s home-inside-his-home. He loved it there; his own tiny world of color and texture. It was always quiet… it helped him think.
He did a lot of thinking there.
“Ed…?”
“!” The eldest boy jumped a bit in surprise, turning with a flutter of his heavily-stained lab coat. (It served as a convenient, if not multi-colored, apron.) “Why, if it isn’t little Rosie,” he then vocalized, smiling pleasantly as he pulled out a handkerchief, wiping down his thin-bristled paintbrush. The pale cloth was soon stained a dark jade-green. “Looking unusually beautiful, I might add.”
The youngest Elric sibling grinned from her seat on the basement steps, her perfectly lined eyes crinkling with delight at the praise. “I’m going out,” she announced gleefully, smoothing down her long white socks and showing off her freshly-painted black nails. “On a date.”
Ed arched an eyebrow, moving away from his easel. Putting down his current brush, he made a show of choosing a new one from the box on the card table. “Oh? With who?” he asked lightly, as if he didn’t really care. But this only made Rosalie’s smile widen into a smirk.
“Amy,” she sang, flipping her long, silky locks over her shoulder. Tonight she was wearing it in a high pony tail, held up with a lavender satin ribbon. “You know her. The bookworm with wavy brown hair? Uber cute? Her older sisters go to your school.”
“I know her.” Edward smiled faintly, selecting a thicker brush as he straddled a fold-out chair, staring directly at his little sister. “And I’m happy for you… though I’m beginning to think that mom and dad are going to be highly disappointed on the grandkid front.”
Rosalie laughed, waving a heavily bangled hand. “Don’t worry, I haven’t sworn off guys, or anything,” she assured, sky-blue eyes twinkling with mischief and good humor. “In fact, Todd will be with us.”
The elder teen instantly scowled. “Todd. . . ? What, as in Todd Multare? That pyro, flirty kid? NO. I don’t like him-and he’s WAY too old for you.”
“He’s 18!”
“And you’re not,” Ed pointed out. His eyes had hardened considerably; stabbing the air with the tip of his brush. “Hell, neither am I. And I don’t like him.”
“Good thing you’re not dating him, then,” Rosalie retorted coolly, pushing herself to her feet. Unconcernedly brushing off the rear of her jean skirt, she began to stroll forward-towards the unfinished painting Ed had left on his easel. “Speaking of your love life, though. . .” She paused, leaning forward, squinting a bit. (From his chair nearby, Ed caught a whiff of her Sweet Pea perfume.) “Oh my. New flame?” The girl asked innocently, whirling around and jabbing a thumb at the picture. It was no where near completed: just a few light lines traced with thin highlights of shadowed emerald, vibrant turquoise, and peachy-vanilla. But Rosalie had seen enough of her brother’s paintings to know that this was the beginning of a very important portrait… at least, important to Ed.
He only ever used acrylic for the important ones.
“I guess…” Edward replied-albeit a bit hesitantly-resting his chin against the back of his chair; thick black lashes lowering to hide sections of his glowing amber eyes. “…you could say that.”
“It’s good so far.”
He chuckled, though somewhat exasperated. “How can you say that? There’s barely anything there!”
“Maybe,” Rosie beamed, lacing her fingers together behind her back, “but I can tell it’s good. And I’m sure Alex will like it, too, once you’ve finished it.” She paused momentarily, watching for her brother’s reaction. He didn’t say anything, but she was sure she saw his back stiffen a little. That was all she needed to know. “By the way- did you ever show him those other sketches you’d done? Of him, I mean. Of him sleeping and reading in the garden? Because really, Ed, they were beautiful.”
The blonde boy’s face had slowly disappeared into the depths of his crossed arms; the tips of his ears flamed a horrible shade of scarlet. Rosalie smiled. “. . . in that case, you really should.”
“No, I shouldn’t.” His voice was muffled, but clear.
“Yes, you should,” she repeated firmly, frowning slightly. “Really, Ed. Are you a man, or aren’t you?”
“Sexist much?”
“I’m allowed to be,” Rosie sniffed huffily. “I’m a girl.” Then, with a giggle to show that she was only kidding, she glided over to kiss the top of her moody brother’s head. “That said, I’ve gotta get going. Amy’s parents are strict about curfews, so if I wanna get into her pants before nine I need to have left five minutes ago.”
Ed lifted his head half an inch, casting his sister a dry look. “Too much information, Squirt. Too much information. . .” But he ruffled her hair all the same, waving goodbye as she raced up the stairs.
“Oh- AND NO TALKING TO TODD!”
But her only response was the slamming of the front door.
X
June, 1921
Dear Al,
The days are long here-all meshed together to form one never-ending being. Light fades into darkness, darkness merges with light. . . time keeps moving on.
But I feel like I’m being left behind. I don’t care about this world; I don’t care about their inventions; I don’t care about the people. I just want to go home.
I want to leave all of this nothingness behind.
Heiderich and I don’t talk much about anything other than science. I know he wants to ask about you, but he doesn’t. I’m not sure why-perhaps a feeling of decency?
Or maybe he thinks I won’t answer. Which is true, I won’t. I just…
I don’t want him to think that I’m using him, even if I probably am. His kindness, his sympathy-I don’t deserve it. I know that. But I keep on taking it, anyway.
I’m pathetic, Al. I was willing to die for you, but I’m not strong enough to live without you.
I hope that you’re okay.
-Ed
X
Summer air was always sweeter at nighttime in the country, perfumed as it was with spring crests and lilac blossoms. The tall, waving golden grasses that grew in the near distance rustled; the trees which stretched on ‘til forever looked like distant mountains from where their house stood on the hills. Dark clouds rolled peacefully, like ocean waves, as timid stars grew bold.
Alex observed all of this silently, holding the journal in his lap. It was a comfortable weight, pleasantly heavy against his legs. Fingering it quietly, he closed his eyes, rocking slowly back and forth on the porch bench. As the basement belonged to Ed, the porch belonged to Alexander; it was his place to think, to muse, to sort out feelings.
He also felt that it was the most beautiful place in the world.
“So what should we do; how to act? Forget everything; bring in back?” he hummed softly; the words to an old lullaby. His voice quietly echoed over the landscape, in time to the creaking of his swing. “One never should try to rebirth… what was taken away by the Earth…”
His mother’s words; but in reference to what? He’d never understood the song… but it had a calming effect on him, even now, after all these years. Though occasionally, when he was at his most confused, he would wonder what it meant. Did it have a secret story, like Grandpa’s journal?
And speaking of Grandpa’s journal…
“‘Some choices we live not once, but a thousand times over-remembering them for the rest of our lives.’”
“?” Alex straightened, not shocked but still mildly surprised to see Edward in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame; watching him with his relaxed golden gaze. The screen door creaked as the older boy pushed through it, into the night. “What are you talking about?”
Edward shrugged, moving to sit on the cold porch step. Stretching out his long, slender legs, he tilted his head toward the white, waning moon. “It’s a Richard Bard quote. Grandpa told me it, once.” He cast his baby brother a look from over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow. “I figure it might mean more to you than me, seeing as how you’re the one digging through his deep-dark past.”
Alexander flushed a bit, as he always seemed to, nowadays. “I wouldn’t call it deep and dark,” he mumbled, pushing himself gently. His fingers tightened around the spine. “So far, it’s just sorta… sad.”
Ed smirked. “What, no more pre-electricity porn?”
“Brother…”
“I’m just kidding!” He chortled for a moment, amused by Al’s expression, but quickly calmed; sobriety in his tone when he next spoke. “Seriously, though. What do you mean? Why is it sad?”
“…” Alex sighed a bit, staring out over the treetops. “He just… seems really lonely, right now. He keeps talking about how nothing else matters when his brother isn’t with him. I’d be afraid of him committing suicide if I didn’t know for a fact that he lived to be 100.”
Ed considered this, brow furrowing in thought. “Well… he can’t stay that sad for long, I’d think. I mean, we have that picture of them together, right? Eventually, this Al-person is gonna have to show up for their Kodak moment.”
Alexander hadn’t thought of that.
Edward grinned upon noticing Al’s wide-eyed expression. “I’m sure things will turn out okay for them,” he assured, getting to his feet with a scuffle of socks. “So stop dawdling with your reading-I want you to get to the juicy details and give me the play-by-play.”
“Brother!”
The door shut with a bang; Ed raced off laughing.
X
July, 1921
Dear Al,
The days and nights are getting warmer. They remind me of summers back home, only less green. There isn’t a lot of wildlife here in the city-it’s actually rather depressing. But sometimes, when work is slow, Heiderich and I will take a drive through the countryside. I like those days; he’ll listen in the backseat as I tell stories about our adventures and admire the scenery. Then we’ll have a picnic. On days like those, it’s hard to imagine the world as the screwed-up place I know it is.
But it’s nice to have some happy memories.
Work has been getting harder and harder as the days get longer. We never seem to have enough time to get things done; then we’re told we need to do more. Our blueprints for an experimental miniature of the rocket are nearing completion, but Heiderich says we won’t be ready to start constructing even the miniature model for another month or two.
I’d rather be searching for the Philosopher’s Stone again, than to sit around and endure this mindless waiting.
However, in my spare time-on days that aren’t suited for driving- I have had the opportunity to explore the city. There is a police man who’s stationed near the bar; he could be Hughes’ double. And the woman who works at the corner market is identical to Gracia.
I have had a hard time deciding whether or not I like them, because of such things. It’d be so easy to let stories slip if I talked to them. . . to automatically assume that they are the same person on either side of the Gate. But that would be ignorant of me.
Still, there is a part of me that wishes to see more familiar faces-Mustang, Hawkeye, Armstrong, Rose, Winry… hell, even Scar. Seeing them; even though they make me want to cry and laugh and scream and do SOMETHING (but what, I’m not sure) all at once; they still give me such a strange sense of peace.
‘I am not crazy. I did not dream it all.’
Heiderich believes me. I just have to keep believing me.
I know you’re out there, Al.
And I’m going to find you soon.
-Ed
XXX
Yea! That’s the end of chapter two. BIG THANKS to everyone who have been reading-I’m shocked by how many people are already in love with this fic! XD You guys rock! *hugs*