Mirrorworld ch. 39
Title: Verdict
Author: ketita
Words: 12,643
Rating: R
Summary: Ed found a way to prove that he was truly from a parallel universe, and Alfons finds himself trapped in Ed's dream of opening the Gate. Premovie, AU
Previous parts can be found HERE. (Or handy journal tags.)
Notes: I have been having a sucky time. But things are looking up now, so hopefully I will go back to my normal month-between-posts. Thanks to yixsh, who caught what could have been a potentially embarrassing mistake, to naatz for being available on the phone whenever I need her, and cryogenia for being all-around awesome, as usual, and the sound advice.
Harris had, apparently, not been particularly impressed by Alfons' ability to be articulate when talking about his and Edward's relationship. As such, he had provided Alfons with a script to say before the court, and told him to learn it by heart.
Alfons was mostly thankful for it. Harris didn't know that half of the stammering was because of how he looked, and Alfons wasn't about to tell him, but having a pre-written text would save him embarrassment.
Or rather, it would have saved him embarrassment if he didn't have to stand up in front of three grim individuals and announce that he had been 'involved in a romantic and carnal relationship with Edward Elric for over two years'.
A little star next to the word 'years' directed him to a note scribbled in the margins advising him UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES to mention when those two years had been. They didn't want the issue of where Edward had vanished to for four years raised at all.
At first Alfons tried practicing in front of the mirror, but decided to start small - namely, mumbling the words with his face shoved into the pillow.
He knew it was irrational, but he was still waiting for some sort of doom to descend upon him. True, Harris had hardly reacted, but that couldn't be true for everybody here.
He was afraid that this confession would somehow make things worse for Edward, but if that were true, Harris would have told him to keep silent, right?
The judges would be allowed to ask him pretty much whatever they wanted, after he made the statement, so the paper included a whole bunch of instructions how to comport himself.
Alfons sighed. Most of them were pretty much impossible. He supposed he could try to disguise his accent, but wasn't terribly optimistic about succeeding. As for refraining from mentioning anything suspicious - of course he wouldn't do it on purpose, but how was he supposed to know?
Other instructions, such as meeting the judges' eyes (so he didn't look like he was lying), not stammering, and the like, were more feasible. They would have to be.
His greatest fear was that somehow, this wasn't what Edward wanted. Edward should have been the one to break the news to his family and friends, on his terms, in his words. Coming from Edward, it would surely have sounded better than coming from Alfons, like this.
Right now, Edward didn't even know that most of the people he cared about seemed to not even like Alfons. What if, somehow, Alfons managed to damage Edward's relations with other people because of this? He wished he could have made a better impression, but had no idea what he could have done differently.
In Germany, Alfons had seemed to be one of very few people who had any respect for Edward. He suddenly saw their positions reversed, saw himself as the perpetual outsider, mind full of images of a world beyond this one.
He sat up, crumpled Harris' paper into a ball, and threw it across the room.
It hadn't happened yet, he told himself, trying to regulate his breathing before the twitch in his chest became a problem. Nobody thought he was crazy, here. He didn't dream of a home away from this world, because he no longer had one.
Unlike Edward, he could recognize a self-destructive thought when it was staring him in the face. He stood up and walked shakily over to where the ball of paper had rolled. Carefully, he picked it up, smoothed out the wrinkles, and returned to his bed.
-
Next morning, he put on his nicest borrowed clothes, tried to get his hair to lie right (he really needed a haircut), and hoped he looked respectable. He worried that he only looked terrified.
Nobody seemed to be treating him any differently, but Alfons was pretty sure that was just because they didn't know. There was no way Al would take the news with no comment.
Even if Harris hadn't spread the word, Alfons felt like the news of his preferences must be pasted on his forehead, immediately obvious to anybody who saw him. He tried to avoid people's eyes, and was uncomfortable at how easy it was. Apparently hardly anybody bothered looking at him.
One of the few people who really looked at him was Harris, who gave him a quick once-over in the courtroom before they started, and nodded satisfaction. Even though he knew better, that nod was enough to calm him, just a little.
He fidgeted his way through the proceedings, keeping an eye on the clock (which seemed to be moving far slower than usual). The only things he remembered of that day were utterly inconsequential: that Mustang wasn't there, that Winry sneezed loudly at some point, that the roof was so thick you could hardly hear the rain patter on it.
Finally, the interminable day was over. As the building cleared, Harris motioned for Alfons to stay behind. Al gave him a suspicious look, to which Alfons shrugged and tried to look innocent. When almost everybody had left, Harris returned, and led Alfons through several corridors, until they reached a smaller room, where the judges waited. There was no sign of the prosecutor.
The judges didn't look particularly impatient, and more importantly, they looked nothing like any of his family members. With a minimum of stumbling, Alfons managed to present his case. It was hard to keep his voice steady at the moment of naked shock on the judges' faces, but he managed somehow. When he finished there was silence for a few moments, until Justice Tsamis spoke.
"Why now?” he asked. “Why did you wait this long to come forward?”
Alfons swallowed, flicked his eyes over to Harris, but the lawyer didn't give him a sign. What was he supposed to say? What was safe to say?
"I... miss him,” Alfons tried, quashing his embarrassment. Maybe an appeal to emotion would work; he didn't even know. He could feel a blush rising, and dropped his gaze to the floor, scuffing one foot against it nervously.
Harris stepped up, then, and spent a while discussing details with the judges, leaving Alfons to deal with his apprehension. He was pretty sure they would agree, but had to work hard to keep himself from pacing.
At long last, Harris thanked the judges, and motioned Alfons to come. Nearly stumbling, Alfons chased after him. He could hardly believe it when Harris told their driver to take them to the prison.
"It worked?” Alfons asked breathlessly. “I'm going to get to see him? Now?”
Harris nodded, and elaborated when they had gotten out of the car. “Your visit will be three hours long, in a private room-”
Three hours. Alfons could hardly believe his good fortune.
"Needless to say, I'll expect a report afterwards.” Harris paused. “Feel free to keep certain details to yourself.”
"Details?” Then he got it. “Oh.” He flushed scarlet.
"Alfons,” Harris said, his voice grave. The tone made Alfons pause, look back at him.
"Right now, very few people know of your relationship. When you leave, there will probably be hardly anybody left who doesn't know.”
Alfons swallowed, then nodded shortly. There might have been compassion in Harris' eyes, but Alfons firmly told himself to forget it.
"Let's go, then.” Harris led the way up the stairs to the prison.
-
Even with the court order, getting in wasn't easy. The guards didn't seem inclined to believe it, and ended up calling the court for confirmation. Somewhere around the third checkpoint, the prosecutor showed up and got into a shouting match with Harris. Alfons stood aside and watched for a few minutes, not sure what to do, but eventually decided to continue.
He was checked for contraband multiple times. His pen was confiscated, the guards went through his pockets and patted him down, even made him take off his shoes.
Now he saw the difference in treatment. The guards would look at him, look at the court order, and when they looked back at him their gaze changed - there was something appraising about it, something incredulous. At least nobody had made any comments, yet.
He was so deep inside the prison he probably couldn't have found his way out, but he refused to let that bother him. Every step brought him closer to Edward.
A metal door was unlocked, revealing a small cell with a bed and sink, instead of more endless corridor.
"There you are,” the guard said, nudging him in. Alfons looked around the tiny, dull, cell. No trace of Edward; he was probably still on the way.
"Now, listen, you,” the guard said, pointing at him. “I'm not taking responsibility for what Mr. Homicidal might do to you.”
Alfons felt a stab of anger and opened his mouth to retort, but the guard wasn't finished yet.
"If we hear screaming, we'll try to help you, but getting the locks open might take some time. Have fun,” he leered.
"Fuck you,” Alfons snapped, wishing he dared punch him.
"Ah-ah, I don't swing that way.” The guard smirked, obviously pleased with himself, and left with a slam of the door.
Alfons forced his fists to unclench, wished he could make his stomach do the same, and sank onto the bed. The mattress was crap, and Alfons smiled wryly. Reminded him of Germany.
He rested his elbows on his knees and stared pensively at nothing. He really hoped he had made the right decision. He could hardly imagine what things would be like when he left here, when everybody knew....
No use borrowing trouble. He might as well make the most of this.
Noises from outside made him look up, his heart fluttering. The locks clicked open and Edward shuffled in, chained hand and foot, in the company of two guards and the one Alfons had met before.
Edward didn't move while they were unchaining him, didn't raise his head, and Alfons convinced himself it was because they probably hadn't told him. Edward would be happy once they were alone.
"Three hours,” one of the guards said. “On the dot.” His expression was sour, as if he hated giving them even that much.
Alfons could tell that Edward was confused, but waited until the door was locked to speak.
"Edward.”
Edward jerked, and momentary panic flitted across his face. Alfons crushed his fear and stood, touching him gently on the shoulder. “Edward, it's me.”
"Alfons?” Edward touched Alfons' fingers where they lay on his shoulder, sending a bolt of heat through him. “It's... really you?”
"Yeah.”
Edward turned towards him, but didn't try to shake off Alfons' hand. He ran his fingers slowly up Alfons' arm, brushed them across Alfons' cheek in the lightest of touches.
Mouth dry, Alfons watched his glassy, unfocused eyes, and resisted the urge to clasp the hand to him.
"Alfons, I'm-”
"Come sit down,” Alfons cut him off, tugging him towards the bed. He didn't want to hear apologies, not when Edward looked so fragile he might fall apart. And if it wasn't an apology Edward had started, Alfons didn't want to hear it, either.
Pliant, Edward followed him to the bed, obviously trusting Alfons to lead him. Alfons urged him down, noting with worry the stiffness of his movements, as if moving the automail took too much out of him.
They were close together, legs touching, Alfons' fingers itching to pull Edward to him. He had to keep reminding himself to be careful, not to freak Edward out, not to come on too strong. Not to give Edward a reason to push him away, and not to let him if he tried.
"How did you...” Edward trailed off, head down, and played absently with the fabric of Alfons' sleeve.
Alfons stared at his fingers, and was unprepared for the sudden longing that rushed through him, an almost uncontrollable desire to reassure himself that Edward was still alive, which left his heart pounding and his mouth dry.
"You're,” he began, thought of touching him, but could hardly see an inch of skin that wasn't marked with bruises. “Are you okay?”
It was a stupid question.
"Just great,” said Edward.
He didn't need Edward to say anything more, because he was making no attempt to hide the real answer his body told - in the slump of his shoulders, in the downward curve of his neck, in the weak pull of his fingers against Alfons' clothes. The faint beard made him look older, scruffier, and Alfons wondered who shaved him, if anybody bothered.
Watching him was more than Alfons could bear. There were no barriers, now, no chains, no guards, and not even the warning voice in his head was enough to keep him from pulling Edward close, feeling how real he was, how thin he had grown, how-
-he was stiffening, pulling away.
Not Edward, too....
"I'm not so pathetic I need a hug,” Edward snapped. Alfons dropped his arms, the sting of hurt sapping his strength.
He was so pathetic.
The silence grew heavier, Alfons' breaths coming louder and louder. He clenched his fists, tried to reason his way through this. He was here for Edward, not himself. If Edward needed him to be stoic, he would do his best.
Was it really so weak of him?
"Shit,” Edward muttered, and jerked his head up to look in Alfons' direction. “Shit, Alfons, I didn't mean-” He fumbled with his flesh hand, and Alfons couldn't help but flinch at the touch on his back. He would resist, he was stronger than this.
He was completely incapable of pretending he wasn't undone when Edward held onto him, wrapped both arms around his chest, and pressed his face into Alfons' collarbone. With a small noise, Alfons buried his face in Edward's neck.
He smelled a bit stale, a bit like sweat, with a hint of rough soap. His hair was greasy and tangled, but Alfons buried his fingers in it anyway, pressed his lips to the skin behind Edward's ear, and inhaled.
He had missed him so badly.
Edward pulled his legs onto the bed and held on to Alfons, and that was enough to ease a hurt Alfons himself had hardly been aware of.
"Careful - my ribs -”
“Sorry.” Alfons released him quickly, breath catching. Nothing he did could possibly heal Edward's wounds, and he felt stupid for even offering comfort.
But a hint of a smile quirked at the edge of Edward's lips, and he pulled Alfons' arms back around him, and hugged him close. Like this, they hardly needed words to communicate.
Edward's automail hand was fisted in the fabric at Alfons' back, while his flesh hand massaged gently at his neck, then moved upwards toward his scalp, sending sparks down Alfons' spine.
The smile that spread across Edward's face was genuine. “Your hair got long,” he said, enchanted, tugging at the strands.
"It's annoying,” Alfons said, though he felt a thrill. He couldn't keep the answering smile off his face.
"I wish...” Edward looked wistful, and ran his fingers through it.
Alfons needed to return the smile that was slipping off Edward's face. “I can wait with cutting it,” he said. “At least until you can see it.”
Edward tried to smile, but his expression crumpled, his thoughts painted across his face, clear as day.
"My sight came back,” Alfons said softly. He tangled his fingers in Edward's, gripping tightly. “Yours will, too.”
"That's not-” Edward stopped, took a breath, before he expelled it and snapped his mouth shut.
Something else was wrong, Alfons knew it, and had to stop himself from pouncing on the words-almost-said to demand an answer. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
"If it takes me too fucking long, just cut it,” he finally said. “I know it annoys you.” He leaned over, bumped his forehead on Alfons' shoulder. “Chorosho tebya vidit.”
Alfons stilled. He forced himself to speak lightly. “Edward, you know I don't understand Russian. What's the big secret?”
Edward jerked away, and Alfons didn't miss the flash of panic. “I wasn't speaking Russian.”
Alfons figured that didn't merit a response. “Obviously you haven't been drinking-”
"Where the fuck would I get alcohol? I barely get food!”
Ignoring that took more effort. “Maybe one of the guards is Drachman? The language seems to be sort of similar.” He watched Edward's face carefully for his reaction.
"Yeah,” Edward said, after a moment. “Maybe...”
It obviously wasn't.
"So how did you get in, anyway?”
Either Alfons was getting better at recognizing Edward's attempts at derailing, or Edward was being exceptionally clumsy about it. Still, as long as Edward was communicating in some way, Alfons wouldn't do anything that might make him stop.
He opened his mouth to answer, and hesitated. Answering meant explaining what he had done - but he had promised not to keep any secrets. If Edward were angry at him, he wasn't sure what he would do.
"I told them I'm your... boyfriend.” Alfons stared studiously at the wall across from them, not daring to look at Edward. Edward wasn't answering, and wasn't answering, and Alfons' rising fear translated into an uncontrollable babble. “Because according to Amestris law, that lets me visit you. More often, and a long time, probably more than anybody else. And we get this room and stuff-”
Edward's hand on his knee made him fall silent. “Don't worry so much,” Edward said gruffly. “I'm sure it's going to work out.”
Alfons' heart sank, even as his mind spun in an attempt to understand the words. They were so noncommittal as to be practically meaningless, and Edward was probably beyond disappointed, and he would probably never say anything, and why had Alfons had to open his big mouth and pile another worry onto Edward, who was going through so much already?
"Alfons?” Edward looked towards him, his brows pulled together in worry. “Look, I know... it's difficult for you. You were always so worried about people finding out...” Edward paused. “I'm talking nonsense, aren't I?”
Alfons leaned over to kiss him on the temple. “No,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Even now, Edward was trying to help him, which was pretty much the opposite of what he was trying to achieve. “No, you're not.”
Slightly encouraged, Edward continued. “It sucks that I'm stuck in here, but I, I want you to know, you can rely on Al no matter what,” he said.
... Right.
"I wish I could - but - if you need anything, please ask him, okay? I know he'd help you out.”
"Er, yeah,” Alfons said, because he didn't have the heart to say anything else. “But that's not why I'm here.” He could do the subject-changing thing, too.
It worked; Edward looked curious, and allowed Alfons to pull him down on the bed, though his ears turned a bit red. He only resisted momentarily, to run his hand over the surface of the bed to make sure there was nothing unexpected in the way, before he willingly lay down beside Alfons. The bed was small, hardly wide enough for the two of them, even lying face-to-face as they were. Alfons tangled his legs in Edward's, encouraged Edward to rest his arm across Alfons' waist, and didn't miss the slightly uneven breath Edward drew at the contact. Edward's face was so close his breath was warm on Alfons' chin, and he raised a hand to gently brush his hair back behind his ear, and ran his thumb over Edward's too-prominent cheekbone.
"You haven't been sleeping, have you?” he murmured. “I promise I'll wake you up if you have any nightmares.”
A shamed flush spread over Edward's cheeks, and he turned his face away from Alfons' hand.
But... he had known for ages about Edward's nightmares, Edward had even told him about them! Why was Edward drawing away from him now?
"I haven't been sleeping well, without you,” Alfons tried. That did work, in a way; Edward looked guilty, for a moment, then hugged Alfons closer.
Edward wanted to stop needing him, wanted to hide-
Alfons cut off the thoughts, and was just thankful for this much: for Edward near him, the warmth of him against his skin.
"Let me get this straight,” Edward said. “You went to all this trouble just so we could get an hour's sleep?”
"And cuddle,” Alfons added. Edward snorted, and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'sap'.
For a few minutes they just lay there, occasionally shifting against each other. Edward closed his eyes, and the darkness around them became more apparent. Alfons wanted to kiss him again, but didn't.
"You'll wake me up?” Edward asked quietly.
"Yeah.” Even though Edward couldn't see, Alfons smiled at him. Because Edward couldn't see, he didn't know how weak a smile it was.
With a long sigh, Edward relaxed. Within moments his breath had evened out, and his expression had relaxed into an uneasy peace.
He really was beyond exhausted.
For a time, Alfons lay awake and just watched him through slightly unfocused eyes. Whenever Edward stirred or whimpered, Alfons would stroke him, murmur nonsense at him. After a time his sleep grew deeper.
This was something only he could give Edward. He told himself that it was enough.
He was supposed to watch over Edward, but as time passed, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. He wasn't warm, and he wasn't particularly comfortable or content, and Edward's automail hummed disturbingly loudly in the silence - even so, he closed his eyes, held Edward close, and fell asleep easier than he had since they had arrived in Amestris.
-
Somebody was shaking him, hard. Alfons fought his way to consciousness, completely disoriented. He opened his eyes to Edward's bright hair, and beyond that was a guard, who was shaking him awake.
Humiliation burned through his belly as reality crashed down on him, he felt sick at being caught with his arms around Edward, wanted more than anything to hide. Edward was waking up, confused, and Alfons couldn't push him away. He swallowed, tried to wipe his face clean of feeling.
Two other guards stood behind the first one, and all three were contemplating, with slight disgust, the way Edward and Alfons were twined about each other. With as much dignity as he could muster, Alfons sat up, untangled himself, and smoothed his clothes.
"Alfons?”
Edward was still groggy, and tried to hold on to him.
"Our time is up,” he said, in English, gently detaching his arms. Edward's face fell for a moment, then became stony when the guard roughly told him to hold out his hands for the cuffs.
Alfons rested one hand on his arm, and squeezed as hard as he dared.
"You must know, they can't keep me away from you.” He met the guards eyes' as he spoke, feeling a slight triumph at their annoyance. “Even if they threaten you or tell you they won't let us meet, they can't. We have a court order. I promise I will come back the day after tomorrow.”
"I'll be waiting,” Edward said, trying hard to sound flippant. “Not like I have anywhere to go.”
Alfons could see, in the few moments before they were separated, how hard Edward fought for his composure. And yet... he looked just a little better rested, just a little stronger than he had three hours ago.
It had been time well spent. Alfons forced himself to hold his head high, and followed the guards out of the prison, squaring his shoulders against whatever he might have to face.
-
To his slight disappointment, Harris wasn't there to meet him. Instead, two of Mustang's soldiers, whom he had met previously, were waiting.
"Brace yourself,” Davy said, when they stepped out of the prison gates.
A sea of flashbulbs greeted Alfons, and the cacophony of questions being shouted at him was deafening. Alfons hung back, briefly considered running back into the prison.
"Don't be a chicken,” Charlotte told him, and cheerfully pushed him into the crowd.
Being tall meant that Alfons couldn't really hide even if he wanted to. The evening papers would probably sport plenty of unflattering pictures of him, and this would be his first time being featured in the press, too.
He could gripe about it to Edward. It might make him smile.
They made it safely to the car, and he buried his face in his hands. Oh God, it was real.
-
The entire drive was impossibly awkward. Though normally talkative, Charlotte was now silent, and stared straight ahead stiffly. On the other hand, Alfons seemed to be constantly catching Davy's eyes in the rearview mirror, every time he looked up. Alfons tried to keep his eyes out the window, and wished they would just say something.
At long last they arrived back at the hotel, and Alfons still didn't know what to expect. They would be going in, and he would have to confront everybody, and-
"Hey,” he said, his voice strangled. They both paused, and he wasn't imagining it, they wouldn't meet his eyes. “Is... is this alright?” He couldn't think of how to phrase it.
For a time both of them were silent - long enough for Alfons to notice how cold the wind was, and that some snow had gotten into his shoe.
Charlotte spoke, fiddling with a strand of her dark hair. “Look, it's weird. I mean, he's the Fullmetal Alchemist. He's a hero.”
And who the hell are you? was heavily implied.
Alfons didn't say anything, and the two soldiers gratefully slipped away.
He had loved Edward when nobody else had. Shouldn't that count for something? He had come to terms with the fact that Al didn't consider him worth much, but for everybody to think like that....
Better get inside. He hurried forward, and tried to steel himself.
Vague thoughts of being unobtrusive ran through his mind, but they all vanished the moment he was inside the building. A hush descended, and no, he wasn't imagining it, pretty much everybody had paused to look at him.
Alfons headed for the stairs as quickly as he could, feeling sweat trickle down his neck. Murmurs followed him, and none of them sounded happy. Probably talking about how somebody like him had no business being with Edward.
"Alfons.”
It was Mustang. Alfons entertained the thought of flight, but held his ground. When he saw Mustang's face, it became harder to.
"Come with me,” Mustang said. He didn't even pause, just strode away, secure in the knowledge that Alfons would follow. Before the eyes of the entire room, Alfons could hardly do otherwise.
In an attempt to calm down, he reminded himself that Mustang was pretty much Michaels, and that Michaels had hardly been a terrifying person. Also, Michaels had been a decent man, and - who was he kidding, he knew well enough that the doubles had no relation to each other. He swallowed bitterness.
They didn't go far. Mustang entered the first conference room they came across, and evicted five soldiers with a jerk of his head. The room was far too big for just the two of them, spare and echoing, a blackboard and a no-nonsense table surrounded by chairs being the only furniture.
"Sit down,” Mustang ordered, and motioned at one of the chairs. He pulled one over for himself, and sat across from Alfons, a stern expression on his face.
Alfons sank into the chair slowly, and reminded himself he had nothing to fear.
"So,” Mustang began. “You say you're... how would you define your relationship with Edward?”
Alfons swallowed, and tried not to avoid Mustang's intense black eye. He could feel heat rising in his face. “Um... lovers?” he tried, in a small voice. At Mustang's look, he shrank down in his seat.
"Very well,” Mustang said. “And this has been going on for two years?”
"Y-yes, sir.”
Mustang drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “What are your feelings towards him?”
God, this couldn't have been more awkward if it had been Professor Hohenheim sitting across from him. Actually, the professor would probably have been a lot less embarrassing.
Alfons clasped his hands in his lap and willed his voice to be steady before he spoke. "It's... you could say... well, I just... I... love him,” Alfons faltered, and didn't understand why that admission made something twinge unpleasantly in his chest.
Mustang leaned forward. “You are the spitting image of his brother. This doesn't strike you as wrong?”
He should have expected it. He should have known it was coming, for goodness' sake he had thought it often enough. But hearing somebody else say it made it so much more real.
All of his past reasoning fled his mind. In the end, he just managed to say, “But I'm not his brother.” In Germany, that had been enough.
Mustang didn't respond to that. Instead - “How did it start?”
The thought of not answering didn't even cross Alfons' mind, he was so relieved to be changing the subject. He stared at the wall for a moment, remembering. Remembered the first time Edward had helped him in the lab, and how utterly capable he had looked, with his strong arms and eyes that lit up when he got excited about a breakthrough. The joy of debating with a mind as sharp as his, the desire to bring a smile to his face, the see-saw of emotions when Edward had first started telling him stories of his world, until the realization that Edward was, impossibly, completely sane.
That was where he started: when Edward had proven that he had come from another world, and how that was enough for Alfons to consider the possibility of more. Edward's initial rejection, and (with some prompting), its aftermath of a kiss which Edward had liked-
Alfons broke off, his face burning. At least nobody would think he was lying, but oh God, he couldn't believe he had actually said any of that aloud.
"So you admit that you were the instigator of your relationship.”
Alfons was reminded of the courtroom. He nodded.
"And you knew that you were identical to his brother.”
"Not at first....”
"But early on.” Mustang waited for Alfons to nod, then continued. “Do you really think Edward could have denied you?”
Alfons reeled, felt lightheaded from lack of air.
"You said yourself that you were his only friend. When you came and demanded a physical relationship with him, would he have even recognized having the option of refusing?”
"That's not true!” Alfons found himself on his feet, fists clenched. “Edward wouldn't let me push him around like that!”
He remembered pinning him down, understanding too late that Edward wasn't capable of tossing him off.
He kept his voice steady. “We've been together for two years,” he snarled. “Don't you dare say it was a lie! You don't know anything about us!”
Mustang had known Edward for far longer than Alfons.
"I believe that you love him,” said Mustang quietly. “Which is why I'm asking you to consider seriously what is right for him.”
"Me leaving him would not be right for him in any way.”
"What did you do today?”
Alfons didn't want to answer any more. He wanted to tell Mustang to go to hell and storm off. But he couldn't leave the man with even a hint of doubt. “I-”
Edward didn't like telling people about his nightmares.
"We-”
Edward was usually embarrassed by displays of affection, and probably wouldn't want Alfons telling Mustang they slept curled together.
"He slept. I promised I'd watch over him. He's exhausted.”
There - Mustang was no longer quite so sure of himself. If Mustang knew Edward at all, he would know that Edward didn't relax easily around people.
He's mine, Alfons thought fiercely. He loves me.
Mustang rose slowly, his uncertainty hidden once more. “That will be all, for now,” he said.
Alfons watched, bewildered, as he turned to leave. “That's it?” he blurted.
Mustang paused and looked back briefly. “I've heard enough,” he said.
How could this conversation have possibly been enough? He hadn't even given Alfons a chance to properly explain himself!
"But-”
Mustang had already left.
-
Everybody was talking about him. Alfons had chalked it up to paranoia, at first, but after a while he could no longer deny that people tended to fall silent when he drew near. At dinner in the mess hall, nobody would meet his eyes, so he sat alone at the end of one of the long tables.
Out of the corners of his eyes he could see that people were poring over newspapers - which probably had articles about him. He had to resist the urge to ask to see one.
After about fifteen minutes of pushing his food around on his plate he decided enough was enough. He held himself stiff as he deposited his dishes in the proper places, and resisted the urge to turn around at the feel of eyes on his back.
Nobody said anything to him as he left the room, and nobody stopped him on his way upstairs. It was a good thing he had taken a book out of the library, because the evening was looking to be a long one. There was no way he would dare sneak out of the base, not after seeing the circus that had awaited him outside the prison.
In the sitting room near his room, he chanced across a whole stack of newspapers. He tried to walk by, but out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a picture of himself, and couldn't resist. Luckily, nobody was around to see him.
He carried the whole pile over to one of the low tables, sat down, and took a deep breath.
Homicidal Alchemist Gets Laid, read the first headline. Alfons' heart was doing uncomfortable acrobatics in his chest. The first page sported a picture of him, taken outside the prison. He looked small and scared, and maybe Alfons would have better luck with the next newspaper.
The Boyfriend Hoax, it read, and had a two large pictures - one of Al, one of Alfons right beneath it. Alfons stared at their two faces, made more similar by the black and white, and felt ill.
He picked up the newspaper, and scrutinized the pictures. They weren't that similar, after all. The shape of Al's chin was slightly rounder, his nose more upturned. Alfons' jaw was squarer, and Al had a large freckle on his left cheek which Alfons didn't, and-
He was fooling himself. They looked really fucking alike.
Maybe Edward had been fooling himself all these years, as well. The thought sent a chill down Alfons' spine.
The other papers had similar titles, ranging from Love Behind Bars to the more businesslike The People's Hero's Boyfriend.
To distract himself, he turned his attention to the text. Nobody seemed to know much about him, aside from his name. One of the newspapers wrote a scathing attack against the very idea of a murderer like Edward being allowed such visits, while another suggested that it was simply a ruse to get Edward more visiting hours, and Alfons was actually Al in disguise. Or a distant cousin. They were undecided.
Somebody cleared their throat, and Alfons jumped.
"Enjoying seeing yourself in the papers?” Winry asked. Her arms were crossed, and she looked down at him with an unreadable expression.
"Not particularly,” Alfons managed, when he had gotten his pulse back under control. He watched warily as she sat down across from him, and his stomach coiled with nerves. Not again.
"So is it true, what they say?”
At least she was looking at him. Though, it didn't make answering any easier. “What exactly is it they're saying?” he evaded.
Winry raised an eyebrow. “The tabloids are full of descriptions of your steamy prison romance-”
"I get the point,” Alfons said quickly. “We only slept. Only,” he added, when she looked skeptical again.
Winry was quiet for a moment, drumming her fingers on her thigh. “Did he say anything about what's bothering him?”
"I didn't ask. When he wants to talk, he will. He always does.” Belatedly, he remembered that this didn't seem to hold true for Edward's interactions with anybody else.
Winry met his eyes, her expression intense. “How did you do it? How did you get him to notice you?”
Alfons' heart sank. Any hope of Winry being sympathetic dwindled to nothing in an instant, because Winry liked Edward, too.
Mustang wasn't pleased, Al was sure to be angry, and now Winry.... How would he break this to Edward?
"I didn't let him ignore me,” Alfons said, remembering how long it had taken him to realize that if he didn't confront Edward, Edward would just go on pretending he didn't notice.
"You wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.”
"No!” Alfons snapped, too harshly. “I just wanted any answer. I couldn't let him pretend he didn't notice. If he had said no, I would have accepted it.” But he hadn't - he had come back and kissed Edward.
"That's why you came, isn't it?” she asked. “You're head over heels for him. Enough to leave your whole world behind.”
Put like that, it sounded pretty naive. Alfons colored, and scuffed his shoe against the floor in agitation.
"How romantic.” She looked unhappy, and Alfons was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
"I didn't know you were... interested,” he said in a small voice. “Edward never said-”
"No, he wouldn't have, would he,” Winry bit out. She stood up and marched off, hair fluttering angrily behind her.
But he does care, Alfons wanted to say. He had talked about Winry often, just not in a romantic way....
Alfons stood up, determined to go after her. He caught up with her just as she was leaving the room.
"He never forgot about you,” he blurted. “He talked about you often, about all of you. I knew you were important to him way before we came.” He spoke as earnestly as he could, trying to hold her gaze, hoping she would believe him. “And I know how badly he missed your automail....”
Winry snorted. “Men,” she proclaimed, and exited.
-
Alfons mostly spent the rest of the evening worried, and went to bed early.
He couldn't fall asleep, though. Mustang's words were still spinning through his mind, even though he fought to ignore them.
It just didn't make any sense. Edward wouldn't have lied to him for two years. He thought of how often Edward liked to surprise him, pounce on him - that certainly wasn't something Alfons had instigated!
He used to spar with Al.
Edward was so gentle with him when he was hurt, or ill, or after a particularly bad bout of coughing.
He had taken care of Al ever since they were children.
They had sex. True, not so much lately, but that was more lack of opportunity than anything else. He thought of how Edward looked when he got excited, how he liked to sneak up on Alfons and kiss him senseless.
That was real, and that wasn't because of Al. And there was more - Edward even liked how Alfons looked, liked his blue eyes and his collarbone and was excited about Alfons' hair getting long-
Al had long hair.
He felt ill.
His dreams that night were confused and unhappy. He dreamed of wandering their house in Germany, searching for Edward through long corridors he didn't remember. When he finally reached their room, he found Edward kissing his brother. Alfons woke up, disturbed and homesick, to see dawn just creeping over the buildings.
--
On to part 2
Author: ketita
Words: 12,643
Rating: R
Summary: Ed found a way to prove that he was truly from a parallel universe, and Alfons finds himself trapped in Ed's dream of opening the Gate. Premovie, AU
Previous parts can be found HERE. (Or handy journal tags.)
Notes: I have been having a sucky time. But things are looking up now, so hopefully I will go back to my normal month-between-posts. Thanks to yixsh, who caught what could have been a potentially embarrassing mistake, to naatz for being available on the phone whenever I need her, and cryogenia for being all-around awesome, as usual, and the sound advice.
Harris had, apparently, not been particularly impressed by Alfons' ability to be articulate when talking about his and Edward's relationship. As such, he had provided Alfons with a script to say before the court, and told him to learn it by heart.
Alfons was mostly thankful for it. Harris didn't know that half of the stammering was because of how he looked, and Alfons wasn't about to tell him, but having a pre-written text would save him embarrassment.
Or rather, it would have saved him embarrassment if he didn't have to stand up in front of three grim individuals and announce that he had been 'involved in a romantic and carnal relationship with Edward Elric for over two years'.
A little star next to the word 'years' directed him to a note scribbled in the margins advising him UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES to mention when those two years had been. They didn't want the issue of where Edward had vanished to for four years raised at all.
At first Alfons tried practicing in front of the mirror, but decided to start small - namely, mumbling the words with his face shoved into the pillow.
He knew it was irrational, but he was still waiting for some sort of doom to descend upon him. True, Harris had hardly reacted, but that couldn't be true for everybody here.
He was afraid that this confession would somehow make things worse for Edward, but if that were true, Harris would have told him to keep silent, right?
The judges would be allowed to ask him pretty much whatever they wanted, after he made the statement, so the paper included a whole bunch of instructions how to comport himself.
Alfons sighed. Most of them were pretty much impossible. He supposed he could try to disguise his accent, but wasn't terribly optimistic about succeeding. As for refraining from mentioning anything suspicious - of course he wouldn't do it on purpose, but how was he supposed to know?
Other instructions, such as meeting the judges' eyes (so he didn't look like he was lying), not stammering, and the like, were more feasible. They would have to be.
His greatest fear was that somehow, this wasn't what Edward wanted. Edward should have been the one to break the news to his family and friends, on his terms, in his words. Coming from Edward, it would surely have sounded better than coming from Alfons, like this.
Right now, Edward didn't even know that most of the people he cared about seemed to not even like Alfons. What if, somehow, Alfons managed to damage Edward's relations with other people because of this? He wished he could have made a better impression, but had no idea what he could have done differently.
In Germany, Alfons had seemed to be one of very few people who had any respect for Edward. He suddenly saw their positions reversed, saw himself as the perpetual outsider, mind full of images of a world beyond this one.
He sat up, crumpled Harris' paper into a ball, and threw it across the room.
It hadn't happened yet, he told himself, trying to regulate his breathing before the twitch in his chest became a problem. Nobody thought he was crazy, here. He didn't dream of a home away from this world, because he no longer had one.
Unlike Edward, he could recognize a self-destructive thought when it was staring him in the face. He stood up and walked shakily over to where the ball of paper had rolled. Carefully, he picked it up, smoothed out the wrinkles, and returned to his bed.
-
Next morning, he put on his nicest borrowed clothes, tried to get his hair to lie right (he really needed a haircut), and hoped he looked respectable. He worried that he only looked terrified.
Nobody seemed to be treating him any differently, but Alfons was pretty sure that was just because they didn't know. There was no way Al would take the news with no comment.
Even if Harris hadn't spread the word, Alfons felt like the news of his preferences must be pasted on his forehead, immediately obvious to anybody who saw him. He tried to avoid people's eyes, and was uncomfortable at how easy it was. Apparently hardly anybody bothered looking at him.
One of the few people who really looked at him was Harris, who gave him a quick once-over in the courtroom before they started, and nodded satisfaction. Even though he knew better, that nod was enough to calm him, just a little.
He fidgeted his way through the proceedings, keeping an eye on the clock (which seemed to be moving far slower than usual). The only things he remembered of that day were utterly inconsequential: that Mustang wasn't there, that Winry sneezed loudly at some point, that the roof was so thick you could hardly hear the rain patter on it.
Finally, the interminable day was over. As the building cleared, Harris motioned for Alfons to stay behind. Al gave him a suspicious look, to which Alfons shrugged and tried to look innocent. When almost everybody had left, Harris returned, and led Alfons through several corridors, until they reached a smaller room, where the judges waited. There was no sign of the prosecutor.
The judges didn't look particularly impatient, and more importantly, they looked nothing like any of his family members. With a minimum of stumbling, Alfons managed to present his case. It was hard to keep his voice steady at the moment of naked shock on the judges' faces, but he managed somehow. When he finished there was silence for a few moments, until Justice Tsamis spoke.
"Why now?” he asked. “Why did you wait this long to come forward?”
Alfons swallowed, flicked his eyes over to Harris, but the lawyer didn't give him a sign. What was he supposed to say? What was safe to say?
"I... miss him,” Alfons tried, quashing his embarrassment. Maybe an appeal to emotion would work; he didn't even know. He could feel a blush rising, and dropped his gaze to the floor, scuffing one foot against it nervously.
Harris stepped up, then, and spent a while discussing details with the judges, leaving Alfons to deal with his apprehension. He was pretty sure they would agree, but had to work hard to keep himself from pacing.
At long last, Harris thanked the judges, and motioned Alfons to come. Nearly stumbling, Alfons chased after him. He could hardly believe it when Harris told their driver to take them to the prison.
"It worked?” Alfons asked breathlessly. “I'm going to get to see him? Now?”
Harris nodded, and elaborated when they had gotten out of the car. “Your visit will be three hours long, in a private room-”
Three hours. Alfons could hardly believe his good fortune.
"Needless to say, I'll expect a report afterwards.” Harris paused. “Feel free to keep certain details to yourself.”
"Details?” Then he got it. “Oh.” He flushed scarlet.
"Alfons,” Harris said, his voice grave. The tone made Alfons pause, look back at him.
"Right now, very few people know of your relationship. When you leave, there will probably be hardly anybody left who doesn't know.”
Alfons swallowed, then nodded shortly. There might have been compassion in Harris' eyes, but Alfons firmly told himself to forget it.
"Let's go, then.” Harris led the way up the stairs to the prison.
-
Even with the court order, getting in wasn't easy. The guards didn't seem inclined to believe it, and ended up calling the court for confirmation. Somewhere around the third checkpoint, the prosecutor showed up and got into a shouting match with Harris. Alfons stood aside and watched for a few minutes, not sure what to do, but eventually decided to continue.
He was checked for contraband multiple times. His pen was confiscated, the guards went through his pockets and patted him down, even made him take off his shoes.
Now he saw the difference in treatment. The guards would look at him, look at the court order, and when they looked back at him their gaze changed - there was something appraising about it, something incredulous. At least nobody had made any comments, yet.
He was so deep inside the prison he probably couldn't have found his way out, but he refused to let that bother him. Every step brought him closer to Edward.
A metal door was unlocked, revealing a small cell with a bed and sink, instead of more endless corridor.
"There you are,” the guard said, nudging him in. Alfons looked around the tiny, dull, cell. No trace of Edward; he was probably still on the way.
"Now, listen, you,” the guard said, pointing at him. “I'm not taking responsibility for what Mr. Homicidal might do to you.”
Alfons felt a stab of anger and opened his mouth to retort, but the guard wasn't finished yet.
"If we hear screaming, we'll try to help you, but getting the locks open might take some time. Have fun,” he leered.
"Fuck you,” Alfons snapped, wishing he dared punch him.
"Ah-ah, I don't swing that way.” The guard smirked, obviously pleased with himself, and left with a slam of the door.
Alfons forced his fists to unclench, wished he could make his stomach do the same, and sank onto the bed. The mattress was crap, and Alfons smiled wryly. Reminded him of Germany.
He rested his elbows on his knees and stared pensively at nothing. He really hoped he had made the right decision. He could hardly imagine what things would be like when he left here, when everybody knew....
No use borrowing trouble. He might as well make the most of this.
Noises from outside made him look up, his heart fluttering. The locks clicked open and Edward shuffled in, chained hand and foot, in the company of two guards and the one Alfons had met before.
Edward didn't move while they were unchaining him, didn't raise his head, and Alfons convinced himself it was because they probably hadn't told him. Edward would be happy once they were alone.
"Three hours,” one of the guards said. “On the dot.” His expression was sour, as if he hated giving them even that much.
Alfons could tell that Edward was confused, but waited until the door was locked to speak.
"Edward.”
Edward jerked, and momentary panic flitted across his face. Alfons crushed his fear and stood, touching him gently on the shoulder. “Edward, it's me.”
"Alfons?” Edward touched Alfons' fingers where they lay on his shoulder, sending a bolt of heat through him. “It's... really you?”
"Yeah.”
Edward turned towards him, but didn't try to shake off Alfons' hand. He ran his fingers slowly up Alfons' arm, brushed them across Alfons' cheek in the lightest of touches.
Mouth dry, Alfons watched his glassy, unfocused eyes, and resisted the urge to clasp the hand to him.
"Alfons, I'm-”
"Come sit down,” Alfons cut him off, tugging him towards the bed. He didn't want to hear apologies, not when Edward looked so fragile he might fall apart. And if it wasn't an apology Edward had started, Alfons didn't want to hear it, either.
Pliant, Edward followed him to the bed, obviously trusting Alfons to lead him. Alfons urged him down, noting with worry the stiffness of his movements, as if moving the automail took too much out of him.
They were close together, legs touching, Alfons' fingers itching to pull Edward to him. He had to keep reminding himself to be careful, not to freak Edward out, not to come on too strong. Not to give Edward a reason to push him away, and not to let him if he tried.
"How did you...” Edward trailed off, head down, and played absently with the fabric of Alfons' sleeve.
Alfons stared at his fingers, and was unprepared for the sudden longing that rushed through him, an almost uncontrollable desire to reassure himself that Edward was still alive, which left his heart pounding and his mouth dry.
"You're,” he began, thought of touching him, but could hardly see an inch of skin that wasn't marked with bruises. “Are you okay?”
It was a stupid question.
"Just great,” said Edward.
He didn't need Edward to say anything more, because he was making no attempt to hide the real answer his body told - in the slump of his shoulders, in the downward curve of his neck, in the weak pull of his fingers against Alfons' clothes. The faint beard made him look older, scruffier, and Alfons wondered who shaved him, if anybody bothered.
Watching him was more than Alfons could bear. There were no barriers, now, no chains, no guards, and not even the warning voice in his head was enough to keep him from pulling Edward close, feeling how real he was, how thin he had grown, how-
-he was stiffening, pulling away.
Not Edward, too....
"I'm not so pathetic I need a hug,” Edward snapped. Alfons dropped his arms, the sting of hurt sapping his strength.
He was so pathetic.
The silence grew heavier, Alfons' breaths coming louder and louder. He clenched his fists, tried to reason his way through this. He was here for Edward, not himself. If Edward needed him to be stoic, he would do his best.
Was it really so weak of him?
"Shit,” Edward muttered, and jerked his head up to look in Alfons' direction. “Shit, Alfons, I didn't mean-” He fumbled with his flesh hand, and Alfons couldn't help but flinch at the touch on his back. He would resist, he was stronger than this.
He was completely incapable of pretending he wasn't undone when Edward held onto him, wrapped both arms around his chest, and pressed his face into Alfons' collarbone. With a small noise, Alfons buried his face in Edward's neck.
He smelled a bit stale, a bit like sweat, with a hint of rough soap. His hair was greasy and tangled, but Alfons buried his fingers in it anyway, pressed his lips to the skin behind Edward's ear, and inhaled.
He had missed him so badly.
Edward pulled his legs onto the bed and held on to Alfons, and that was enough to ease a hurt Alfons himself had hardly been aware of.
"Careful - my ribs -”
“Sorry.” Alfons released him quickly, breath catching. Nothing he did could possibly heal Edward's wounds, and he felt stupid for even offering comfort.
But a hint of a smile quirked at the edge of Edward's lips, and he pulled Alfons' arms back around him, and hugged him close. Like this, they hardly needed words to communicate.
Edward's automail hand was fisted in the fabric at Alfons' back, while his flesh hand massaged gently at his neck, then moved upwards toward his scalp, sending sparks down Alfons' spine.
The smile that spread across Edward's face was genuine. “Your hair got long,” he said, enchanted, tugging at the strands.
"It's annoying,” Alfons said, though he felt a thrill. He couldn't keep the answering smile off his face.
"I wish...” Edward looked wistful, and ran his fingers through it.
Alfons needed to return the smile that was slipping off Edward's face. “I can wait with cutting it,” he said. “At least until you can see it.”
Edward tried to smile, but his expression crumpled, his thoughts painted across his face, clear as day.
"My sight came back,” Alfons said softly. He tangled his fingers in Edward's, gripping tightly. “Yours will, too.”
"That's not-” Edward stopped, took a breath, before he expelled it and snapped his mouth shut.
Something else was wrong, Alfons knew it, and had to stop himself from pouncing on the words-almost-said to demand an answer. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
"If it takes me too fucking long, just cut it,” he finally said. “I know it annoys you.” He leaned over, bumped his forehead on Alfons' shoulder. “Chorosho tebya vidit.”
Alfons stilled. He forced himself to speak lightly. “Edward, you know I don't understand Russian. What's the big secret?”
Edward jerked away, and Alfons didn't miss the flash of panic. “I wasn't speaking Russian.”
Alfons figured that didn't merit a response. “Obviously you haven't been drinking-”
"Where the fuck would I get alcohol? I barely get food!”
Ignoring that took more effort. “Maybe one of the guards is Drachman? The language seems to be sort of similar.” He watched Edward's face carefully for his reaction.
"Yeah,” Edward said, after a moment. “Maybe...”
It obviously wasn't.
"So how did you get in, anyway?”
Either Alfons was getting better at recognizing Edward's attempts at derailing, or Edward was being exceptionally clumsy about it. Still, as long as Edward was communicating in some way, Alfons wouldn't do anything that might make him stop.
He opened his mouth to answer, and hesitated. Answering meant explaining what he had done - but he had promised not to keep any secrets. If Edward were angry at him, he wasn't sure what he would do.
"I told them I'm your... boyfriend.” Alfons stared studiously at the wall across from them, not daring to look at Edward. Edward wasn't answering, and wasn't answering, and Alfons' rising fear translated into an uncontrollable babble. “Because according to Amestris law, that lets me visit you. More often, and a long time, probably more than anybody else. And we get this room and stuff-”
Edward's hand on his knee made him fall silent. “Don't worry so much,” Edward said gruffly. “I'm sure it's going to work out.”
Alfons' heart sank, even as his mind spun in an attempt to understand the words. They were so noncommittal as to be practically meaningless, and Edward was probably beyond disappointed, and he would probably never say anything, and why had Alfons had to open his big mouth and pile another worry onto Edward, who was going through so much already?
"Alfons?” Edward looked towards him, his brows pulled together in worry. “Look, I know... it's difficult for you. You were always so worried about people finding out...” Edward paused. “I'm talking nonsense, aren't I?”
Alfons leaned over to kiss him on the temple. “No,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Even now, Edward was trying to help him, which was pretty much the opposite of what he was trying to achieve. “No, you're not.”
Slightly encouraged, Edward continued. “It sucks that I'm stuck in here, but I, I want you to know, you can rely on Al no matter what,” he said.
... Right.
"I wish I could - but - if you need anything, please ask him, okay? I know he'd help you out.”
"Er, yeah,” Alfons said, because he didn't have the heart to say anything else. “But that's not why I'm here.” He could do the subject-changing thing, too.
It worked; Edward looked curious, and allowed Alfons to pull him down on the bed, though his ears turned a bit red. He only resisted momentarily, to run his hand over the surface of the bed to make sure there was nothing unexpected in the way, before he willingly lay down beside Alfons. The bed was small, hardly wide enough for the two of them, even lying face-to-face as they were. Alfons tangled his legs in Edward's, encouraged Edward to rest his arm across Alfons' waist, and didn't miss the slightly uneven breath Edward drew at the contact. Edward's face was so close his breath was warm on Alfons' chin, and he raised a hand to gently brush his hair back behind his ear, and ran his thumb over Edward's too-prominent cheekbone.
"You haven't been sleeping, have you?” he murmured. “I promise I'll wake you up if you have any nightmares.”
A shamed flush spread over Edward's cheeks, and he turned his face away from Alfons' hand.
But... he had known for ages about Edward's nightmares, Edward had even told him about them! Why was Edward drawing away from him now?
"I haven't been sleeping well, without you,” Alfons tried. That did work, in a way; Edward looked guilty, for a moment, then hugged Alfons closer.
Edward wanted to stop needing him, wanted to hide-
Alfons cut off the thoughts, and was just thankful for this much: for Edward near him, the warmth of him against his skin.
"Let me get this straight,” Edward said. “You went to all this trouble just so we could get an hour's sleep?”
"And cuddle,” Alfons added. Edward snorted, and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'sap'.
For a few minutes they just lay there, occasionally shifting against each other. Edward closed his eyes, and the darkness around them became more apparent. Alfons wanted to kiss him again, but didn't.
"You'll wake me up?” Edward asked quietly.
"Yeah.” Even though Edward couldn't see, Alfons smiled at him. Because Edward couldn't see, he didn't know how weak a smile it was.
With a long sigh, Edward relaxed. Within moments his breath had evened out, and his expression had relaxed into an uneasy peace.
He really was beyond exhausted.
For a time, Alfons lay awake and just watched him through slightly unfocused eyes. Whenever Edward stirred or whimpered, Alfons would stroke him, murmur nonsense at him. After a time his sleep grew deeper.
This was something only he could give Edward. He told himself that it was enough.
He was supposed to watch over Edward, but as time passed, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. He wasn't warm, and he wasn't particularly comfortable or content, and Edward's automail hummed disturbingly loudly in the silence - even so, he closed his eyes, held Edward close, and fell asleep easier than he had since they had arrived in Amestris.
-
Somebody was shaking him, hard. Alfons fought his way to consciousness, completely disoriented. He opened his eyes to Edward's bright hair, and beyond that was a guard, who was shaking him awake.
Humiliation burned through his belly as reality crashed down on him, he felt sick at being caught with his arms around Edward, wanted more than anything to hide. Edward was waking up, confused, and Alfons couldn't push him away. He swallowed, tried to wipe his face clean of feeling.
Two other guards stood behind the first one, and all three were contemplating, with slight disgust, the way Edward and Alfons were twined about each other. With as much dignity as he could muster, Alfons sat up, untangled himself, and smoothed his clothes.
"Alfons?”
Edward was still groggy, and tried to hold on to him.
"Our time is up,” he said, in English, gently detaching his arms. Edward's face fell for a moment, then became stony when the guard roughly told him to hold out his hands for the cuffs.
Alfons rested one hand on his arm, and squeezed as hard as he dared.
"You must know, they can't keep me away from you.” He met the guards eyes' as he spoke, feeling a slight triumph at their annoyance. “Even if they threaten you or tell you they won't let us meet, they can't. We have a court order. I promise I will come back the day after tomorrow.”
"I'll be waiting,” Edward said, trying hard to sound flippant. “Not like I have anywhere to go.”
Alfons could see, in the few moments before they were separated, how hard Edward fought for his composure. And yet... he looked just a little better rested, just a little stronger than he had three hours ago.
It had been time well spent. Alfons forced himself to hold his head high, and followed the guards out of the prison, squaring his shoulders against whatever he might have to face.
-
To his slight disappointment, Harris wasn't there to meet him. Instead, two of Mustang's soldiers, whom he had met previously, were waiting.
"Brace yourself,” Davy said, when they stepped out of the prison gates.
A sea of flashbulbs greeted Alfons, and the cacophony of questions being shouted at him was deafening. Alfons hung back, briefly considered running back into the prison.
"Don't be a chicken,” Charlotte told him, and cheerfully pushed him into the crowd.
Being tall meant that Alfons couldn't really hide even if he wanted to. The evening papers would probably sport plenty of unflattering pictures of him, and this would be his first time being featured in the press, too.
He could gripe about it to Edward. It might make him smile.
They made it safely to the car, and he buried his face in his hands. Oh God, it was real.
-
The entire drive was impossibly awkward. Though normally talkative, Charlotte was now silent, and stared straight ahead stiffly. On the other hand, Alfons seemed to be constantly catching Davy's eyes in the rearview mirror, every time he looked up. Alfons tried to keep his eyes out the window, and wished they would just say something.
At long last they arrived back at the hotel, and Alfons still didn't know what to expect. They would be going in, and he would have to confront everybody, and-
"Hey,” he said, his voice strangled. They both paused, and he wasn't imagining it, they wouldn't meet his eyes. “Is... is this alright?” He couldn't think of how to phrase it.
For a time both of them were silent - long enough for Alfons to notice how cold the wind was, and that some snow had gotten into his shoe.
Charlotte spoke, fiddling with a strand of her dark hair. “Look, it's weird. I mean, he's the Fullmetal Alchemist. He's a hero.”
And who the hell are you? was heavily implied.
Alfons didn't say anything, and the two soldiers gratefully slipped away.
He had loved Edward when nobody else had. Shouldn't that count for something? He had come to terms with the fact that Al didn't consider him worth much, but for everybody to think like that....
Better get inside. He hurried forward, and tried to steel himself.
Vague thoughts of being unobtrusive ran through his mind, but they all vanished the moment he was inside the building. A hush descended, and no, he wasn't imagining it, pretty much everybody had paused to look at him.
Alfons headed for the stairs as quickly as he could, feeling sweat trickle down his neck. Murmurs followed him, and none of them sounded happy. Probably talking about how somebody like him had no business being with Edward.
"Alfons.”
It was Mustang. Alfons entertained the thought of flight, but held his ground. When he saw Mustang's face, it became harder to.
"Come with me,” Mustang said. He didn't even pause, just strode away, secure in the knowledge that Alfons would follow. Before the eyes of the entire room, Alfons could hardly do otherwise.
In an attempt to calm down, he reminded himself that Mustang was pretty much Michaels, and that Michaels had hardly been a terrifying person. Also, Michaels had been a decent man, and - who was he kidding, he knew well enough that the doubles had no relation to each other. He swallowed bitterness.
They didn't go far. Mustang entered the first conference room they came across, and evicted five soldiers with a jerk of his head. The room was far too big for just the two of them, spare and echoing, a blackboard and a no-nonsense table surrounded by chairs being the only furniture.
"Sit down,” Mustang ordered, and motioned at one of the chairs. He pulled one over for himself, and sat across from Alfons, a stern expression on his face.
Alfons sank into the chair slowly, and reminded himself he had nothing to fear.
"So,” Mustang began. “You say you're... how would you define your relationship with Edward?”
Alfons swallowed, and tried not to avoid Mustang's intense black eye. He could feel heat rising in his face. “Um... lovers?” he tried, in a small voice. At Mustang's look, he shrank down in his seat.
"Very well,” Mustang said. “And this has been going on for two years?”
"Y-yes, sir.”
Mustang drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “What are your feelings towards him?”
God, this couldn't have been more awkward if it had been Professor Hohenheim sitting across from him. Actually, the professor would probably have been a lot less embarrassing.
Alfons clasped his hands in his lap and willed his voice to be steady before he spoke. "It's... you could say... well, I just... I... love him,” Alfons faltered, and didn't understand why that admission made something twinge unpleasantly in his chest.
Mustang leaned forward. “You are the spitting image of his brother. This doesn't strike you as wrong?”
He should have expected it. He should have known it was coming, for goodness' sake he had thought it often enough. But hearing somebody else say it made it so much more real.
All of his past reasoning fled his mind. In the end, he just managed to say, “But I'm not his brother.” In Germany, that had been enough.
Mustang didn't respond to that. Instead - “How did it start?”
The thought of not answering didn't even cross Alfons' mind, he was so relieved to be changing the subject. He stared at the wall for a moment, remembering. Remembered the first time Edward had helped him in the lab, and how utterly capable he had looked, with his strong arms and eyes that lit up when he got excited about a breakthrough. The joy of debating with a mind as sharp as his, the desire to bring a smile to his face, the see-saw of emotions when Edward had first started telling him stories of his world, until the realization that Edward was, impossibly, completely sane.
That was where he started: when Edward had proven that he had come from another world, and how that was enough for Alfons to consider the possibility of more. Edward's initial rejection, and (with some prompting), its aftermath of a kiss which Edward had liked-
Alfons broke off, his face burning. At least nobody would think he was lying, but oh God, he couldn't believe he had actually said any of that aloud.
"So you admit that you were the instigator of your relationship.”
Alfons was reminded of the courtroom. He nodded.
"And you knew that you were identical to his brother.”
"Not at first....”
"But early on.” Mustang waited for Alfons to nod, then continued. “Do you really think Edward could have denied you?”
Alfons reeled, felt lightheaded from lack of air.
"You said yourself that you were his only friend. When you came and demanded a physical relationship with him, would he have even recognized having the option of refusing?”
"That's not true!” Alfons found himself on his feet, fists clenched. “Edward wouldn't let me push him around like that!”
He remembered pinning him down, understanding too late that Edward wasn't capable of tossing him off.
He kept his voice steady. “We've been together for two years,” he snarled. “Don't you dare say it was a lie! You don't know anything about us!”
Mustang had known Edward for far longer than Alfons.
"I believe that you love him,” said Mustang quietly. “Which is why I'm asking you to consider seriously what is right for him.”
"Me leaving him would not be right for him in any way.”
"What did you do today?”
Alfons didn't want to answer any more. He wanted to tell Mustang to go to hell and storm off. But he couldn't leave the man with even a hint of doubt. “I-”
Edward didn't like telling people about his nightmares.
"We-”
Edward was usually embarrassed by displays of affection, and probably wouldn't want Alfons telling Mustang they slept curled together.
"He slept. I promised I'd watch over him. He's exhausted.”
There - Mustang was no longer quite so sure of himself. If Mustang knew Edward at all, he would know that Edward didn't relax easily around people.
He's mine, Alfons thought fiercely. He loves me.
Mustang rose slowly, his uncertainty hidden once more. “That will be all, for now,” he said.
Alfons watched, bewildered, as he turned to leave. “That's it?” he blurted.
Mustang paused and looked back briefly. “I've heard enough,” he said.
How could this conversation have possibly been enough? He hadn't even given Alfons a chance to properly explain himself!
"But-”
Mustang had already left.
-
Everybody was talking about him. Alfons had chalked it up to paranoia, at first, but after a while he could no longer deny that people tended to fall silent when he drew near. At dinner in the mess hall, nobody would meet his eyes, so he sat alone at the end of one of the long tables.
Out of the corners of his eyes he could see that people were poring over newspapers - which probably had articles about him. He had to resist the urge to ask to see one.
After about fifteen minutes of pushing his food around on his plate he decided enough was enough. He held himself stiff as he deposited his dishes in the proper places, and resisted the urge to turn around at the feel of eyes on his back.
Nobody said anything to him as he left the room, and nobody stopped him on his way upstairs. It was a good thing he had taken a book out of the library, because the evening was looking to be a long one. There was no way he would dare sneak out of the base, not after seeing the circus that had awaited him outside the prison.
In the sitting room near his room, he chanced across a whole stack of newspapers. He tried to walk by, but out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a picture of himself, and couldn't resist. Luckily, nobody was around to see him.
He carried the whole pile over to one of the low tables, sat down, and took a deep breath.
Homicidal Alchemist Gets Laid, read the first headline. Alfons' heart was doing uncomfortable acrobatics in his chest. The first page sported a picture of him, taken outside the prison. He looked small and scared, and maybe Alfons would have better luck with the next newspaper.
The Boyfriend Hoax, it read, and had a two large pictures - one of Al, one of Alfons right beneath it. Alfons stared at their two faces, made more similar by the black and white, and felt ill.
He picked up the newspaper, and scrutinized the pictures. They weren't that similar, after all. The shape of Al's chin was slightly rounder, his nose more upturned. Alfons' jaw was squarer, and Al had a large freckle on his left cheek which Alfons didn't, and-
He was fooling himself. They looked really fucking alike.
Maybe Edward had been fooling himself all these years, as well. The thought sent a chill down Alfons' spine.
The other papers had similar titles, ranging from Love Behind Bars to the more businesslike The People's Hero's Boyfriend.
To distract himself, he turned his attention to the text. Nobody seemed to know much about him, aside from his name. One of the newspapers wrote a scathing attack against the very idea of a murderer like Edward being allowed such visits, while another suggested that it was simply a ruse to get Edward more visiting hours, and Alfons was actually Al in disguise. Or a distant cousin. They were undecided.
Somebody cleared their throat, and Alfons jumped.
"Enjoying seeing yourself in the papers?” Winry asked. Her arms were crossed, and she looked down at him with an unreadable expression.
"Not particularly,” Alfons managed, when he had gotten his pulse back under control. He watched warily as she sat down across from him, and his stomach coiled with nerves. Not again.
"So is it true, what they say?”
At least she was looking at him. Though, it didn't make answering any easier. “What exactly is it they're saying?” he evaded.
Winry raised an eyebrow. “The tabloids are full of descriptions of your steamy prison romance-”
"I get the point,” Alfons said quickly. “We only slept. Only,” he added, when she looked skeptical again.
Winry was quiet for a moment, drumming her fingers on her thigh. “Did he say anything about what's bothering him?”
"I didn't ask. When he wants to talk, he will. He always does.” Belatedly, he remembered that this didn't seem to hold true for Edward's interactions with anybody else.
Winry met his eyes, her expression intense. “How did you do it? How did you get him to notice you?”
Alfons' heart sank. Any hope of Winry being sympathetic dwindled to nothing in an instant, because Winry liked Edward, too.
Mustang wasn't pleased, Al was sure to be angry, and now Winry.... How would he break this to Edward?
"I didn't let him ignore me,” Alfons said, remembering how long it had taken him to realize that if he didn't confront Edward, Edward would just go on pretending he didn't notice.
"You wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.”
"No!” Alfons snapped, too harshly. “I just wanted any answer. I couldn't let him pretend he didn't notice. If he had said no, I would have accepted it.” But he hadn't - he had come back and kissed Edward.
"That's why you came, isn't it?” she asked. “You're head over heels for him. Enough to leave your whole world behind.”
Put like that, it sounded pretty naive. Alfons colored, and scuffed his shoe against the floor in agitation.
"How romantic.” She looked unhappy, and Alfons was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
"I didn't know you were... interested,” he said in a small voice. “Edward never said-”
"No, he wouldn't have, would he,” Winry bit out. She stood up and marched off, hair fluttering angrily behind her.
But he does care, Alfons wanted to say. He had talked about Winry often, just not in a romantic way....
Alfons stood up, determined to go after her. He caught up with her just as she was leaving the room.
"He never forgot about you,” he blurted. “He talked about you often, about all of you. I knew you were important to him way before we came.” He spoke as earnestly as he could, trying to hold her gaze, hoping she would believe him. “And I know how badly he missed your automail....”
Winry snorted. “Men,” she proclaimed, and exited.
-
Alfons mostly spent the rest of the evening worried, and went to bed early.
He couldn't fall asleep, though. Mustang's words were still spinning through his mind, even though he fought to ignore them.
It just didn't make any sense. Edward wouldn't have lied to him for two years. He thought of how often Edward liked to surprise him, pounce on him - that certainly wasn't something Alfons had instigated!
He used to spar with Al.
Edward was so gentle with him when he was hurt, or ill, or after a particularly bad bout of coughing.
He had taken care of Al ever since they were children.
They had sex. True, not so much lately, but that was more lack of opportunity than anything else. He thought of how Edward looked when he got excited, how he liked to sneak up on Alfons and kiss him senseless.
That was real, and that wasn't because of Al. And there was more - Edward even liked how Alfons looked, liked his blue eyes and his collarbone and was excited about Alfons' hair getting long-
Al had long hair.
He felt ill.
His dreams that night were confused and unhappy. He dreamed of wandering their house in Germany, searching for Edward through long corridors he didn't remember. When he finally reached their room, he found Edward kissing his brother. Alfons woke up, disturbed and homesick, to see dawn just creeping over the buildings.
--
On to part 2