Fullmetal Alchemist, "Strays I," Nash/Belsio, hard R
Ah, the heavily canon-based fic. I knew I was going to have to deal with one eventually, but that didn't make writing it any easier. For this story, I had to watch canon repeatedly, which wouldn't bother me so much if I could stand FMA canon, but really? I can't! Especially not the Tringham episodes. They are so unbearably cheesy! =_=
Anyway, that said, here's my disclaimer: Yeah, it's heavily based on canon. No, it's not entirely based on canon. Some stuff stays, some stuff goes. There's one blatant, intentional omission. Why? Because I just didn't like it, that's why.
This'll be our submission for 20_inkspots prompt #3, "The Weight of the World," and it's a not an arc, it's just a ... two-shot three-shot? Something like that.
Whatever. Read the fic, leave a comment, hug a Nash, he needs it.
Our contributions for 20_inkspots, in chronological order:
1895: "Holding Back" (#2)
1906: "Dawn for a Dying Man" (#16)
1910: "In the Heat of the Moment" (#1)
1910: "The Pain of Holding On" (#19)
1910: "A Breath of Fresh Air" (#5)
1913: "Strays, part 1" (#3)
1913: "Strays, part 2" (#17)
1913: "Strays, part 3" (#12)
1914: "Everyone Together, All Alone" (#10)
1914: "Sins of the Father" (#14)
1915: "Ask" (#20)
1915: "Keeping Secrets" (#6)
1915: "The Father I Never Was" (#9)
1915: "Timeless" (#18)
1915: "Balance" (#11)
1917: "A Father's Pride and Joy" (#15)
1918: "The Unexpected Gift of Fatherhood (#7)
1918: "Adjustment" (#4)
1918: "Gold of the Earth" (#8)
Will be updated as more stories are added. ^_^
Strays
part i
Distraction and Denial
by Mistr3ss Quickly
John comes home just after sundown, quiet and withdrawn, eyes downcast as he bends to take off his shoes. The angry words of the townspeople echo in his mind, the replies he wishes he'd made in defense of himself echoing against them in a mental cacophony, making his head hurt.
I didn't mean for Elisa to go into the mines to work, today, he wishes he'd said. I told her to go there because she wanted to sell the bracelets she's been making and I thought some of the miners might be interested in buying them ...
Nash greets him with a kiss and a glass of whiskey, leaving him to sit by the fire and drink, sitting nearby with a notebook in his lap, his presence oddly comforting.
It's not usually like this, between them. Not the way John sees things, anyway.
Usually, it's Nash who sits and hurts, Nash who needs John's quiet strength. It's Nash who seeks John's arms around him and John's kisses distracting him, taking his mind off of the things that make him lie about dust in his eyes, wiping away tears he doesn't want John to see.
John doesn't mind being there for Nash. Likes it, in fact. Craves it, because it makes him feel useful, feel needed. Feel loved, although other things Nash does makes him feel loved, also.
Sitting by the fire with a drink in his hand and his heart absolutely aching in his chest, John feels anything but loved and needed and strong and special. He feels hollow, feels awful. Feels like a failure, like a monster.
He sips his whiskey and wonders if Nash felt the same, running away from his wife and children. Wonders if this is what Nash meant when he said that all the whiskey in the world couldn't fill the emptiness he felt when he looked at himself in the mirror, the day after he'd become an adulterer, naked and broken in John's arms.
It's a terrible feeling. One that whiskey seems only to amplify, rather than numb.
Whiskey's easier than coping, though, so he rises from his chair once his glass is empty and walks past his lover, intent on drinking until he doesn't have to think anymore. Doesn't make it two steps past the man before Nash speaks, hand paused over his notebook and eyebrows raised, his expression calm but concerned.
"John," he says, "we both know you'll regret it if you have more than one."
"Indeed," John says. "I was just going to wash my glass."
Nash hums softly and drops his gaze back to his book. Well aware that it's a lie but kind enough to let it go, which John appreciates, even as he rinses his glass and puts it away, his mind far too clear for comfort, replaying the events of the evening.
I thought Elisa would know to stay well away from the mines themselves, he wishes he'd said, earlier. I had no idea she'd try to go into the mines for work. It's so dangerous, I would have warned her that she'd get hurt, had I known ...
Too lost in his own thoughts to notice Nash's footsteps behind him, Nash's voice saying his name. He startles when Nash touches him on the shoulder, apologizes when Nash asks if he's all right.
"Fine," he says. "Just tired."
Nash nods. "Let's go to bed," he says. "It's been a long day."
But even when they're lying in bed, Nash warm at John's side, John can't sleep. Can't get his thoughts to settle, his mind to quiet well enough for him to lose himself in the comfort of his lover's embrace. He listens to Nash breathe and stares blankly at the trees outside the window, visible in the bright moonlight.
Elisa's cough has gotten worse. Deeper, like it's spread to her lungs. She's lost weight, too, her arms thinner than they were in the spring when she came to help him prune the lemon trees.
Lucky she didn't break any bones at the mines, as thin as she's gotten, he thinks, stomach twisting. Or her ribs ... they've got to be strained from coughing ...
"John."
"Mmm."
"Can't sleep?"
"Mmm."
Nash makes a sound halfway between a chuckle and a sigh, his hand slipping under John's nightshirt to rest on John's stomach, just above his navel. Moves his fingers like a cat's kneading, slow and almost ticklish, rubbing his cheek against John's shoulder. He doesn't say anything, though, which John appreciates, letting the quiet settle between them, comfortable and familiar.
He appreciates the touch of Nash's hand, too, the slow repetitive motion lulling him quickly into a daze, soothing him. Nash's fingernails are blunt, he notices, and the thought is somehow important enough to push past the other thoughts in his mind and dominate his attention. Blunt and oddly nice, scratching lightly in the hair below his navel, then lower, past the waistband of his undershorts, low enough that he groans, cock stiffening in anticipation of Nash's touch to it.
But the touch never comes, both of them distracted by the sound of gunfire and shouting echoing across the valley, sudden and loud in the nighttime stillness. Nash shudders, glaring at the bedroom window.
"Coming from the mansion," he says, softly.
John nods. That much is obvious, to him. No one else in Xenotime, to his knowledge, owns a gun, and even if they did, he's certain they'd not fire it in the middle of the night. Disturbing the peace may not be a crime punishable with more than a small fine, but the social repercussions thereof would be horrible. Not something any sane man would risk, John is certain of it.
He regrets risking it himself, every time he leaves his home.
Thinking of leaving his home makes him think of the treatment he received, earlier, although the guilt and anger he felt are not nearly so overwhelming as they were, before. Instead, he thinks of the strangers in the shop, the Alchemists who saved Elisa. Thinks of the commotion he overheard, slinking home afterwards, the blonde in the red coat howling loudly about not having a place to stay, his protests answered with accusations of lying ...
"John?" says Nash, when John slides out of bed and begins dressing. "What's going on?"
John zips his trousers and buttons his shirt. "There were two boys in the shop, earlier today, claiming to be the Elric brothers," he says, pulling his suspenders over his shoulders, the muscle he pulled in his neck that morning protesting the motion, making him wince. "They've probably gone to confront the first pair of Elrics and were caught sneaking in."
Nash climbs out of bed and crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. "Don't go up there, John," he says, softly. "Mugear isn't the sort of man who can be reasoned with, even when children are involved. If he's caught those boys, there's nothing you'll be able to do to help them. Nothing at all."
He's frightened. Trying to act tough, but frightened all the same.
John understands. Nash has more than enough reason to be terrified of the man who lives in the mansion on the hill.
He pulls Nash close and holds him, kisses Nash's hair. Feels the warmth of comforting his lover flood through him, familiar and wonderful and soothing to his pride, wounded from the reversal, earlier.
"I won't go near the mansion," he promises, pulling back and kissing Nash on the mouth. "But I can't let them sleep outdoors. They're only children, Nash."
Nash frowns but doesn't argue, silently following him to the front door, watching him bend to tie his shoes. "I won't be here when you return," he says, softly. Then when John looks at him, confused, he smiles. "You live alone, remember?"
John stands and kisses him in thanks, then steps out into the darkness without looking back, the door closing loudly behind him.
~*~*~*~
The second pair of Elric brothers is nothing like the first, whom John has glimpsed only twice in the time they've been in Xenotime. The elder brother is short and muscular, nothing like the tall lanky blonde claiming to bear the same name, and the younger brother is concealed entirely inside an enormous suit of armor, sharing nothing with his small blonde counterpart but a timid disposition and a soft, high-pitched voice.
"Brother," he scolds, when Edward refers to his double as an arrogant stupid-haired jackass. "Watch you language."
Edward glances up at Belsio and blushes a little, shoulders hunched up under his ears. "Yeah," he says. "Sorry."
The younger brother shifts, metal clanking loudly in the quiet of the kitchen. "Thank you for letting us stay with you," he says. "We really appreciate it."
John answers neither of them, instead lifting the kettle from the stove and pouring water into a low pan, which he carries over to the table and sets in front of the elder brother. Edward blushes and takes the dishtowel John offers him, dipping it into the water and holding it against the painful swelling on his cheek.
"Aren't you going to ask us our names?" he says.
Petulant and obnoxious, just like Nash was at his age. John wonders idly if that sort of personality is a side-effect of studying Alchemy.
"No," he says. "You've already introduced yourselves. I know what you'll tell me."
"Then you believe us?" says the younger brother, rising to his feet.
So earnestly hopeful that John is tempted to lie and tell him yes, he believes him. But a lie is a lie and he's been living with one long enough that he doesn't want to add another, superstitious about collecting too much dishonesty around himself.
"No," he says. "But I believe you have your reasons for lying. Everyone does. And everyone who lies will eventually have to take responsibility for it. I'm sure you know that."
The younger brother sits back down, looking crestfallen, while his older brother sits beside him and glares.
"They admitted to lying," he says, when John sits down across from him. "Those brothers. They asked us first thing if we were the real Elrics."
"Mmm," says John.
Edward snarls at him. "Doesn't it bother you that there are imposters living in your town?"
John shakes his head. "There will always be men who lie about who and what they are," he tells the infuriated teenager. "Just like you and your brother, I'm sure those brothers have their reasons for lying. So long as they're not harming anyone with their lies, I see no reason to be bothered by it."
He looks at Edward's swollen cheek and adds: "Harming others when provoked does not count."
The younger brother makes a sound similar to a laugh and receives a fierce glare from his brother in answer.
"Yeah, well," says Edward, turning his glare back to John. "They've got a stone that could cause anyone in this town plenty of trouble. And I don't care if it was 'provoked' or whatever. I'm a State Alchemist, and that asshole managed to do this to me."
John hums in answer and rises, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. "I'll go and make up a bed for you," he says. "I imagine you're rather tired."
The younger brother thanks him, Edward echoing the sentiment when he's elbowed in the side, so grudgingly that John can't help but laugh, leaving the brothers alone as he goes to ready the guest room. The door to his own room is closed, but the light is on inside, Nash's shadow plainly visible in the space above the floor. Not terribly subtle, but it makes John smile. He makes up the guest bed and opens the window, airing out the stuffiness of the room, pausing just briefly in the hallway to rap his knuckles on his own door.
"Light," he murmurs, softly.
Nash curses, his shadow moving, and then the light goes out. John nods and returns to the brothers in the sitting room.
"Your room is ready for you," he says. "Last door on the right."
"Thank you," says the younger brother. "Really, we appreciate it so much."
Edward yawns, covering his mouth with his hand. "Yeah," he says. "Thanks."
"You're very welcome," says John.
He watches the brothers rise, Edward leading the younger brother down the hall, muttering something unpleasant about the fake Edward that John doesn't quite catch before the door closes behind them. He empties the pan of now-lukewarm water into the sink and turns out the lights, yawning himself as he returns to his own room, Nash sitting on the bed, waiting for him.
"You're a good man, taking them in like this," his lover whispers to him, once he's undressed and lying in bed once again.
John sighs and kisses him, taking comfort in the rub of Nash's stubble, the warmth of Nash's hand resting on his hip.
"What else could I do, Nash?" he murmurs. "They've got no one else to look out for them."
Nash shivers. "Poor boys," he says. "They're too young to be on their own."
John nods. "Yes," he says. "Far too young."
~*~*~*~
The following day, an idea lodges itself in John's mind.
A bad idea.
One that makes his skin prickle with gooseflesh, his stomach twist with worry.
He sends the younger brother out of the house with Elisa, after the elder storms out in a right sulk, so that Nash can come out and eat some breakfast in peace. In the quiet that follows, Nash showering once the house is empty of everyone but himself and John, the idea surfaces, too substantial for John to ignore, pondering it as he cooked.
Helping Nash dress after his shower is, admittedly, a suitable distraction from the thoughts he's been having. He finishes lacing the corset Nash wears whenever he disguises himself as a woman, then sets about reassuring the man that he has no doubts about Nash's masculinity, kissing and groping his lover until the sound of sparrows, fighting in the eaves over the front door, scare them into behaving appropriately, once again.
But as soon as they'd left the bedroom, John preceding his lover to check that they are, indeed, alone, the idea comes back. Cold and terrifying, heavy and dark.
"You're quiet this morning," Nash observes, rising to refill his coffee cup.
John nods. "The Elric brothers are quite a handful," he says.
Enough of a truth that he hopes it won't cause him the troubles lying would undoubtedly cause.
"Sounds that way," says Nash. "My boys were like that. Well, still are, probably. Especially Russel, that child was always into everything." He sighs and takes a drink of his coffee, cradling his cup in both hands and staring vacantly at the floor, his expression haunted. "I wonder if Fletcher's grown into that stage yet. Or grown into it and out of it again, even. He'd be ten now, he probably has."
John touches him on the arm, kisses him on the temple. Nash looks up at him, not crying but looking as if he could at any moment.
"Come with me to the orchard," John says, finishing his own coffee. "It's a nice day, you shouldn't be inside."
Another half-truth, but he can't bring himself to care. Nash nods and follows him out into the morning sunshine, silent and withdrawn. John leaves him to his brooding, comforted well enough just by the man's presence, distracting enough that the idea remains dormant in the back of his mind, leaving him alone until much later, when the sun has sunk behind the mountains and he's left to deal with the Elric brothers alone, once again.
~*~*~*~
Nash is asleep by the time the Elric brothers sneak out of the house, their second night in Xenotime, but John is still awake, sleep having evaded him once again, his lover unable to soothe him with sex when there are others sleeping so nearby. He lies in bed, watching Nash's eyelids flutter as the man dreams, and listens to the clank of armor, the thud of the door sticking when Edward tries to close it.
Off to the mansion once again, he supposes. Off to confront the brothers John's not been able to stop thinking about all day long.
It could just be a coincidence, he tells himself, over and over. Just a coincidence that they're brothers who specialize in Alchemy related to the Red Water.
His head hurts. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, wills his mind to settle well enough for him to sleep.
It could just be a coincidence. Coincidence that they came to Nash's hometown, that they knew to seek out Mr. Mugear ...
But behind his closed eyelids he sees the hulking armor that is Alphonse Elric, the boy picking at his dinner without eating a bite of it, making polite small-talk while his brother scarfs down his own meal.
And it's not like we know they're trying to make the Stone so that they can make gold, Alphonse had said, unbothered by his brother's fork finding its way onto his plate, stealing his boiled potatoes. I mean, maybe they're doing it to further their father's life work or ... something. Maybe.
Edward hadn't responded beyond a derisive snort and another blatant theft off of his brother's plate, but the comment had stuck in John's mind.
And now as he lies still, listening to Nash breathe beside him, he can't stop thinking about it, Alphonse's hollow voice echoing in his mind. Their father's work, it says. Father's work ... father's work ...
By the time gunshots and shouting echo across the valley, he's not managed to sleep, but he has nearly got himself convinced that it's all too coincidental to be possible. Nash stirs but doesn't wake, so John kisses him on the forehead and slips out of bed, dressing quietly in the darkness, then tip-toeing out of the bedroom to wait in the main part of the house for the Elric brothers to return.
He doesn't want to ask them for details about the other brothers Elric, but at the same time, he needs to know.
They don't make him wait long, sneaking into the house with all the subtlety of two children trying to go out in the middle of the night and return without being caught. He speaks to them and they jump, Edward starting in on some excuse while Alphonse apologizes over him, bowing awkwardly.
John waves it away and tells them to have a seat, then rises to make a pot of tea.
"You don't seem to have any new injuries, Edward," he comments mildly, when the water in the kettle begins to boil.
Edward blushes furiously. Alphonse sighs.
John pours some of the water into a dish and takes it, with a clean towel, into the sitting room. "Here," he says. "You should tend to your old bruises, still."
Edward glowers at him. Alphonse thanks him.
John returns to the kitchen. In the time he's known Nash Tringham, he's seen the man throw a punch only once, and as he recalls, it wasn't much of a punch. He'd annoyed his best friend over some trifling little thing and gotten socked for it, the anger between them evaporating when the hard line of his jaw caused more damage to Nash's hand than vice versa.
Which doesn't mean that Nash's child wouldn't be able to throw a decent punch, but it does make a tiny glimmer of hope flare up in John's chest that the fake Elrics are not really Nash's boys.
He glares at the kettle and pours water into the teapot, allowing the leaves to steep while he argues with himself.
"So," he says, serving tea to his guests and sitting down with his own mug. "Was it worth it, waking the entire town just to be caught again?"
Edward scoffs and takes a drink of his tea, jumping when he burns his tongue on it. "We didn't just get caught," he says.
"We got to talk to those brothers some," says Alphonse, helpfully.
"I see," says John. "And what did you find out?"
Both brothers fall silent, Edward pretending to sip his tea even though they all know it's too hot for him to drink, just yet. John waits and watches them, knowing that teenagers can hardly stand long silences, that the pressure of it will get to them, eventually.
He's correct. Edward fidgets after only thirty seconds. Alphonse jumps in to speak before his brother has the chance to. Probably worried for the rudeness Edward's likely to display.
"They're good boys, those brothers," he says. "They told us a little about their work and what they're trying to do. Something about their father's work, I'm not really sure, but it's a good goal, really."
John's heart sinks all the way into his stomach. "Then they really are Nash's sons," he says, without thinking. "Aren't they."
"Nash?" says Edward, perking up. "Like Nash Tringham?"
John nods. "Yes," he says. "He was from here, originally. We grew up together."
"Huh," says Edward, looking thoughtful. "I didn't know this was his hometown. Just that he's the one credited with researching the properties of the Red Water. Didn't know he had kids, either."
"Yes," said John. "Two sons about your age."
"Huh," said Edward, with a dismissive shrug. "Yeah, that could be them, then. I guess."
John closes his eyes and sends a brief prayer to his God.
At least now I no longer have to wonder, he tells himself, sipping his tea while Alphonse does his best to awkwardly change the subject. At least now, I know.
What on earth am I going to tell Nash?
~*~*~*~
An hour later, John bids the Elric brothers goodnight and sits alone by the fire, his heart heavy and head aching, too full of thoughts and feelings for him to sort any of them out, to think clearly at all.
Nash's voice echoes in his mind, deep and frightened: Mugear isn't the sort of man who can be reasoned with, even when children are involved.
Nash's warnings clash with them, dark and severe: If he's caught those boys, there's nothing you'll be able to do to help them. Nothing at all.
Nash's attempts to keep John away from the mansion, fears thin-veiled. Nash's obvious desire to protect him, to keep his lover safe.
What if it were your children, Nash? John tries desperately not to think. What if it were your boys, imprisoned by that man, suffering like you did? What then? Would we risk doing something, then?
He knows the answer. Just as clearly as he knows he won't be able to bring himself to stop Nash, when Nash leaves to save his sons.
Another hour passes before he rises, his body aching from sitting still too long, his mind set.
Nash cannot find out, he's decided.
Another dishonesty, but Nash simply cannot know.
He turns out the lights and pads quietly into the bedroom, undressing quickly before slipping into bed, praying that Nash won't wake and ask him anything. He's certain he won't be able to lie. Not well enough, not as exhausted as he is. Not to the man who knows him as well as Nash knows him.
Nash rolls over, curled up beside him like a frightened child, warm and heavy.
"Is it true, John?" he whispers, just as John's closed his eyes.
John keeps his eyes closed and pretends to sleep. He can feel Nash trembling, beside him, Nash's hand drifting across his chest and down, fingers lacing with his own.
"Is it true, John?" Nash whispers. "Are my boys really here, in Xenotime? Is it true?"
John keeps his eyes closed and prays that it's nothing more than a bad dream.
"Yes," he whispers, when Nash squeezes his hand, hard enough to hurt. "Yes, I think it may be."
Anyway, that said, here's my disclaimer: Yeah, it's heavily based on canon. No, it's not entirely based on canon. Some stuff stays, some stuff goes. There's one blatant, intentional omission. Why? Because I just didn't like it, that's why.
This'll be our submission for 20_inkspots prompt #3, "The Weight of the World," and it's a not an arc, it's just a ... two-shot three-shot? Something like that.
Whatever. Read the fic, leave a comment, hug a Nash, he needs it.
Our contributions for 20_inkspots, in chronological order:
1895: "Holding Back" (#2)
1906: "Dawn for a Dying Man" (#16)
1910: "In the Heat of the Moment" (#1)
1910: "The Pain of Holding On" (#19)
1910: "A Breath of Fresh Air" (#5)
1913: "Strays, part 1" (#3)
1913: "Strays, part 2" (#17)
1913: "Strays, part 3" (#12)
1914: "Everyone Together, All Alone" (#10)
1914: "Sins of the Father" (#14)
1915: "Ask" (#20)
1915: "Keeping Secrets" (#6)
1915: "The Father I Never Was" (#9)
1915: "Timeless" (#18)
1915: "Balance" (#11)
1917: "A Father's Pride and Joy" (#15)
1918: "The Unexpected Gift of Fatherhood (#7)
1918: "Adjustment" (#4)
1918: "Gold of the Earth" (#8)
Will be updated as more stories are added. ^_^
Strays
part i
Distraction and Denial
by Mistr3ss Quickly
John comes home just after sundown, quiet and withdrawn, eyes downcast as he bends to take off his shoes. The angry words of the townspeople echo in his mind, the replies he wishes he'd made in defense of himself echoing against them in a mental cacophony, making his head hurt.
I didn't mean for Elisa to go into the mines to work, today, he wishes he'd said. I told her to go there because she wanted to sell the bracelets she's been making and I thought some of the miners might be interested in buying them ...
Nash greets him with a kiss and a glass of whiskey, leaving him to sit by the fire and drink, sitting nearby with a notebook in his lap, his presence oddly comforting.
It's not usually like this, between them. Not the way John sees things, anyway.
Usually, it's Nash who sits and hurts, Nash who needs John's quiet strength. It's Nash who seeks John's arms around him and John's kisses distracting him, taking his mind off of the things that make him lie about dust in his eyes, wiping away tears he doesn't want John to see.
John doesn't mind being there for Nash. Likes it, in fact. Craves it, because it makes him feel useful, feel needed. Feel loved, although other things Nash does makes him feel loved, also.
Sitting by the fire with a drink in his hand and his heart absolutely aching in his chest, John feels anything but loved and needed and strong and special. He feels hollow, feels awful. Feels like a failure, like a monster.
He sips his whiskey and wonders if Nash felt the same, running away from his wife and children. Wonders if this is what Nash meant when he said that all the whiskey in the world couldn't fill the emptiness he felt when he looked at himself in the mirror, the day after he'd become an adulterer, naked and broken in John's arms.
It's a terrible feeling. One that whiskey seems only to amplify, rather than numb.
Whiskey's easier than coping, though, so he rises from his chair once his glass is empty and walks past his lover, intent on drinking until he doesn't have to think anymore. Doesn't make it two steps past the man before Nash speaks, hand paused over his notebook and eyebrows raised, his expression calm but concerned.
"John," he says, "we both know you'll regret it if you have more than one."
"Indeed," John says. "I was just going to wash my glass."
Nash hums softly and drops his gaze back to his book. Well aware that it's a lie but kind enough to let it go, which John appreciates, even as he rinses his glass and puts it away, his mind far too clear for comfort, replaying the events of the evening.
I thought Elisa would know to stay well away from the mines themselves, he wishes he'd said, earlier. I had no idea she'd try to go into the mines for work. It's so dangerous, I would have warned her that she'd get hurt, had I known ...
Too lost in his own thoughts to notice Nash's footsteps behind him, Nash's voice saying his name. He startles when Nash touches him on the shoulder, apologizes when Nash asks if he's all right.
"Fine," he says. "Just tired."
Nash nods. "Let's go to bed," he says. "It's been a long day."
But even when they're lying in bed, Nash warm at John's side, John can't sleep. Can't get his thoughts to settle, his mind to quiet well enough for him to lose himself in the comfort of his lover's embrace. He listens to Nash breathe and stares blankly at the trees outside the window, visible in the bright moonlight.
Elisa's cough has gotten worse. Deeper, like it's spread to her lungs. She's lost weight, too, her arms thinner than they were in the spring when she came to help him prune the lemon trees.
Lucky she didn't break any bones at the mines, as thin as she's gotten, he thinks, stomach twisting. Or her ribs ... they've got to be strained from coughing ...
"John."
"Mmm."
"Can't sleep?"
"Mmm."
Nash makes a sound halfway between a chuckle and a sigh, his hand slipping under John's nightshirt to rest on John's stomach, just above his navel. Moves his fingers like a cat's kneading, slow and almost ticklish, rubbing his cheek against John's shoulder. He doesn't say anything, though, which John appreciates, letting the quiet settle between them, comfortable and familiar.
He appreciates the touch of Nash's hand, too, the slow repetitive motion lulling him quickly into a daze, soothing him. Nash's fingernails are blunt, he notices, and the thought is somehow important enough to push past the other thoughts in his mind and dominate his attention. Blunt and oddly nice, scratching lightly in the hair below his navel, then lower, past the waistband of his undershorts, low enough that he groans, cock stiffening in anticipation of Nash's touch to it.
But the touch never comes, both of them distracted by the sound of gunfire and shouting echoing across the valley, sudden and loud in the nighttime stillness. Nash shudders, glaring at the bedroom window.
"Coming from the mansion," he says, softly.
John nods. That much is obvious, to him. No one else in Xenotime, to his knowledge, owns a gun, and even if they did, he's certain they'd not fire it in the middle of the night. Disturbing the peace may not be a crime punishable with more than a small fine, but the social repercussions thereof would be horrible. Not something any sane man would risk, John is certain of it.
He regrets risking it himself, every time he leaves his home.
Thinking of leaving his home makes him think of the treatment he received, earlier, although the guilt and anger he felt are not nearly so overwhelming as they were, before. Instead, he thinks of the strangers in the shop, the Alchemists who saved Elisa. Thinks of the commotion he overheard, slinking home afterwards, the blonde in the red coat howling loudly about not having a place to stay, his protests answered with accusations of lying ...
"John?" says Nash, when John slides out of bed and begins dressing. "What's going on?"
John zips his trousers and buttons his shirt. "There were two boys in the shop, earlier today, claiming to be the Elric brothers," he says, pulling his suspenders over his shoulders, the muscle he pulled in his neck that morning protesting the motion, making him wince. "They've probably gone to confront the first pair of Elrics and were caught sneaking in."
Nash climbs out of bed and crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. "Don't go up there, John," he says, softly. "Mugear isn't the sort of man who can be reasoned with, even when children are involved. If he's caught those boys, there's nothing you'll be able to do to help them. Nothing at all."
He's frightened. Trying to act tough, but frightened all the same.
John understands. Nash has more than enough reason to be terrified of the man who lives in the mansion on the hill.
He pulls Nash close and holds him, kisses Nash's hair. Feels the warmth of comforting his lover flood through him, familiar and wonderful and soothing to his pride, wounded from the reversal, earlier.
"I won't go near the mansion," he promises, pulling back and kissing Nash on the mouth. "But I can't let them sleep outdoors. They're only children, Nash."
Nash frowns but doesn't argue, silently following him to the front door, watching him bend to tie his shoes. "I won't be here when you return," he says, softly. Then when John looks at him, confused, he smiles. "You live alone, remember?"
John stands and kisses him in thanks, then steps out into the darkness without looking back, the door closing loudly behind him.
~*~*~*~
The second pair of Elric brothers is nothing like the first, whom John has glimpsed only twice in the time they've been in Xenotime. The elder brother is short and muscular, nothing like the tall lanky blonde claiming to bear the same name, and the younger brother is concealed entirely inside an enormous suit of armor, sharing nothing with his small blonde counterpart but a timid disposition and a soft, high-pitched voice.
"Brother," he scolds, when Edward refers to his double as an arrogant stupid-haired jackass. "Watch you language."
Edward glances up at Belsio and blushes a little, shoulders hunched up under his ears. "Yeah," he says. "Sorry."
The younger brother shifts, metal clanking loudly in the quiet of the kitchen. "Thank you for letting us stay with you," he says. "We really appreciate it."
John answers neither of them, instead lifting the kettle from the stove and pouring water into a low pan, which he carries over to the table and sets in front of the elder brother. Edward blushes and takes the dishtowel John offers him, dipping it into the water and holding it against the painful swelling on his cheek.
"Aren't you going to ask us our names?" he says.
Petulant and obnoxious, just like Nash was at his age. John wonders idly if that sort of personality is a side-effect of studying Alchemy.
"No," he says. "You've already introduced yourselves. I know what you'll tell me."
"Then you believe us?" says the younger brother, rising to his feet.
So earnestly hopeful that John is tempted to lie and tell him yes, he believes him. But a lie is a lie and he's been living with one long enough that he doesn't want to add another, superstitious about collecting too much dishonesty around himself.
"No," he says. "But I believe you have your reasons for lying. Everyone does. And everyone who lies will eventually have to take responsibility for it. I'm sure you know that."
The younger brother sits back down, looking crestfallen, while his older brother sits beside him and glares.
"They admitted to lying," he says, when John sits down across from him. "Those brothers. They asked us first thing if we were the real Elrics."
"Mmm," says John.
Edward snarls at him. "Doesn't it bother you that there are imposters living in your town?"
John shakes his head. "There will always be men who lie about who and what they are," he tells the infuriated teenager. "Just like you and your brother, I'm sure those brothers have their reasons for lying. So long as they're not harming anyone with their lies, I see no reason to be bothered by it."
He looks at Edward's swollen cheek and adds: "Harming others when provoked does not count."
The younger brother makes a sound similar to a laugh and receives a fierce glare from his brother in answer.
"Yeah, well," says Edward, turning his glare back to John. "They've got a stone that could cause anyone in this town plenty of trouble. And I don't care if it was 'provoked' or whatever. I'm a State Alchemist, and that asshole managed to do this to me."
John hums in answer and rises, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. "I'll go and make up a bed for you," he says. "I imagine you're rather tired."
The younger brother thanks him, Edward echoing the sentiment when he's elbowed in the side, so grudgingly that John can't help but laugh, leaving the brothers alone as he goes to ready the guest room. The door to his own room is closed, but the light is on inside, Nash's shadow plainly visible in the space above the floor. Not terribly subtle, but it makes John smile. He makes up the guest bed and opens the window, airing out the stuffiness of the room, pausing just briefly in the hallway to rap his knuckles on his own door.
"Light," he murmurs, softly.
Nash curses, his shadow moving, and then the light goes out. John nods and returns to the brothers in the sitting room.
"Your room is ready for you," he says. "Last door on the right."
"Thank you," says the younger brother. "Really, we appreciate it so much."
Edward yawns, covering his mouth with his hand. "Yeah," he says. "Thanks."
"You're very welcome," says John.
He watches the brothers rise, Edward leading the younger brother down the hall, muttering something unpleasant about the fake Edward that John doesn't quite catch before the door closes behind them. He empties the pan of now-lukewarm water into the sink and turns out the lights, yawning himself as he returns to his own room, Nash sitting on the bed, waiting for him.
"You're a good man, taking them in like this," his lover whispers to him, once he's undressed and lying in bed once again.
John sighs and kisses him, taking comfort in the rub of Nash's stubble, the warmth of Nash's hand resting on his hip.
"What else could I do, Nash?" he murmurs. "They've got no one else to look out for them."
Nash shivers. "Poor boys," he says. "They're too young to be on their own."
John nods. "Yes," he says. "Far too young."
~*~*~*~
The following day, an idea lodges itself in John's mind.
A bad idea.
One that makes his skin prickle with gooseflesh, his stomach twist with worry.
He sends the younger brother out of the house with Elisa, after the elder storms out in a right sulk, so that Nash can come out and eat some breakfast in peace. In the quiet that follows, Nash showering once the house is empty of everyone but himself and John, the idea surfaces, too substantial for John to ignore, pondering it as he cooked.
Helping Nash dress after his shower is, admittedly, a suitable distraction from the thoughts he's been having. He finishes lacing the corset Nash wears whenever he disguises himself as a woman, then sets about reassuring the man that he has no doubts about Nash's masculinity, kissing and groping his lover until the sound of sparrows, fighting in the eaves over the front door, scare them into behaving appropriately, once again.
But as soon as they'd left the bedroom, John preceding his lover to check that they are, indeed, alone, the idea comes back. Cold and terrifying, heavy and dark.
"You're quiet this morning," Nash observes, rising to refill his coffee cup.
John nods. "The Elric brothers are quite a handful," he says.
Enough of a truth that he hopes it won't cause him the troubles lying would undoubtedly cause.
"Sounds that way," says Nash. "My boys were like that. Well, still are, probably. Especially Russel, that child was always into everything." He sighs and takes a drink of his coffee, cradling his cup in both hands and staring vacantly at the floor, his expression haunted. "I wonder if Fletcher's grown into that stage yet. Or grown into it and out of it again, even. He'd be ten now, he probably has."
John touches him on the arm, kisses him on the temple. Nash looks up at him, not crying but looking as if he could at any moment.
"Come with me to the orchard," John says, finishing his own coffee. "It's a nice day, you shouldn't be inside."
Another half-truth, but he can't bring himself to care. Nash nods and follows him out into the morning sunshine, silent and withdrawn. John leaves him to his brooding, comforted well enough just by the man's presence, distracting enough that the idea remains dormant in the back of his mind, leaving him alone until much later, when the sun has sunk behind the mountains and he's left to deal with the Elric brothers alone, once again.
~*~*~*~
Nash is asleep by the time the Elric brothers sneak out of the house, their second night in Xenotime, but John is still awake, sleep having evaded him once again, his lover unable to soothe him with sex when there are others sleeping so nearby. He lies in bed, watching Nash's eyelids flutter as the man dreams, and listens to the clank of armor, the thud of the door sticking when Edward tries to close it.
Off to the mansion once again, he supposes. Off to confront the brothers John's not been able to stop thinking about all day long.
It could just be a coincidence, he tells himself, over and over. Just a coincidence that they're brothers who specialize in Alchemy related to the Red Water.
His head hurts. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, wills his mind to settle well enough for him to sleep.
It could just be a coincidence. Coincidence that they came to Nash's hometown, that they knew to seek out Mr. Mugear ...
But behind his closed eyelids he sees the hulking armor that is Alphonse Elric, the boy picking at his dinner without eating a bite of it, making polite small-talk while his brother scarfs down his own meal.
And it's not like we know they're trying to make the Stone so that they can make gold, Alphonse had said, unbothered by his brother's fork finding its way onto his plate, stealing his boiled potatoes. I mean, maybe they're doing it to further their father's life work or ... something. Maybe.
Edward hadn't responded beyond a derisive snort and another blatant theft off of his brother's plate, but the comment had stuck in John's mind.
And now as he lies still, listening to Nash breathe beside him, he can't stop thinking about it, Alphonse's hollow voice echoing in his mind. Their father's work, it says. Father's work ... father's work ...
By the time gunshots and shouting echo across the valley, he's not managed to sleep, but he has nearly got himself convinced that it's all too coincidental to be possible. Nash stirs but doesn't wake, so John kisses him on the forehead and slips out of bed, dressing quietly in the darkness, then tip-toeing out of the bedroom to wait in the main part of the house for the Elric brothers to return.
He doesn't want to ask them for details about the other brothers Elric, but at the same time, he needs to know.
They don't make him wait long, sneaking into the house with all the subtlety of two children trying to go out in the middle of the night and return without being caught. He speaks to them and they jump, Edward starting in on some excuse while Alphonse apologizes over him, bowing awkwardly.
John waves it away and tells them to have a seat, then rises to make a pot of tea.
"You don't seem to have any new injuries, Edward," he comments mildly, when the water in the kettle begins to boil.
Edward blushes furiously. Alphonse sighs.
John pours some of the water into a dish and takes it, with a clean towel, into the sitting room. "Here," he says. "You should tend to your old bruises, still."
Edward glowers at him. Alphonse thanks him.
John returns to the kitchen. In the time he's known Nash Tringham, he's seen the man throw a punch only once, and as he recalls, it wasn't much of a punch. He'd annoyed his best friend over some trifling little thing and gotten socked for it, the anger between them evaporating when the hard line of his jaw caused more damage to Nash's hand than vice versa.
Which doesn't mean that Nash's child wouldn't be able to throw a decent punch, but it does make a tiny glimmer of hope flare up in John's chest that the fake Elrics are not really Nash's boys.
He glares at the kettle and pours water into the teapot, allowing the leaves to steep while he argues with himself.
"So," he says, serving tea to his guests and sitting down with his own mug. "Was it worth it, waking the entire town just to be caught again?"
Edward scoffs and takes a drink of his tea, jumping when he burns his tongue on it. "We didn't just get caught," he says.
"We got to talk to those brothers some," says Alphonse, helpfully.
"I see," says John. "And what did you find out?"
Both brothers fall silent, Edward pretending to sip his tea even though they all know it's too hot for him to drink, just yet. John waits and watches them, knowing that teenagers can hardly stand long silences, that the pressure of it will get to them, eventually.
He's correct. Edward fidgets after only thirty seconds. Alphonse jumps in to speak before his brother has the chance to. Probably worried for the rudeness Edward's likely to display.
"They're good boys, those brothers," he says. "They told us a little about their work and what they're trying to do. Something about their father's work, I'm not really sure, but it's a good goal, really."
John's heart sinks all the way into his stomach. "Then they really are Nash's sons," he says, without thinking. "Aren't they."
"Nash?" says Edward, perking up. "Like Nash Tringham?"
John nods. "Yes," he says. "He was from here, originally. We grew up together."
"Huh," says Edward, looking thoughtful. "I didn't know this was his hometown. Just that he's the one credited with researching the properties of the Red Water. Didn't know he had kids, either."
"Yes," said John. "Two sons about your age."
"Huh," said Edward, with a dismissive shrug. "Yeah, that could be them, then. I guess."
John closes his eyes and sends a brief prayer to his God.
At least now I no longer have to wonder, he tells himself, sipping his tea while Alphonse does his best to awkwardly change the subject. At least now, I know.
What on earth am I going to tell Nash?
~*~*~*~
An hour later, John bids the Elric brothers goodnight and sits alone by the fire, his heart heavy and head aching, too full of thoughts and feelings for him to sort any of them out, to think clearly at all.
Nash's voice echoes in his mind, deep and frightened: Mugear isn't the sort of man who can be reasoned with, even when children are involved.
Nash's warnings clash with them, dark and severe: If he's caught those boys, there's nothing you'll be able to do to help them. Nothing at all.
Nash's attempts to keep John away from the mansion, fears thin-veiled. Nash's obvious desire to protect him, to keep his lover safe.
What if it were your children, Nash? John tries desperately not to think. What if it were your boys, imprisoned by that man, suffering like you did? What then? Would we risk doing something, then?
He knows the answer. Just as clearly as he knows he won't be able to bring himself to stop Nash, when Nash leaves to save his sons.
Another hour passes before he rises, his body aching from sitting still too long, his mind set.
Nash cannot find out, he's decided.
Another dishonesty, but Nash simply cannot know.
He turns out the lights and pads quietly into the bedroom, undressing quickly before slipping into bed, praying that Nash won't wake and ask him anything. He's certain he won't be able to lie. Not well enough, not as exhausted as he is. Not to the man who knows him as well as Nash knows him.
Nash rolls over, curled up beside him like a frightened child, warm and heavy.
"Is it true, John?" he whispers, just as John's closed his eyes.
John keeps his eyes closed and pretends to sleep. He can feel Nash trembling, beside him, Nash's hand drifting across his chest and down, fingers lacing with his own.
"Is it true, John?" Nash whispers. "Are my boys really here, in Xenotime? Is it true?"
John keeps his eyes closed and prays that it's nothing more than a bad dream.
"Yes," he whispers, when Nash squeezes his hand, hard enough to hurt. "Yes, I think it may be."