Skeletons Chapter Four
Yup, this one is reposted, too! ^_~
Disclaimer: Oh yeah, I SO pwn this. (And yes, I’m a horrible liar. XD)
Author’s Note: Ah, what an appropriate way to start a chapter! While in the middle of a fight with my mom over Elricest. Love is love, dammit. That’s all I’m gonna say. X3
Enjoy chapter four! :D
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I’d been wondering about Alex’s sexual preferences (guy or girl, that is) for… well, I hesitate to say “too long”... let’s just stick with “a while.” A long while. And though I usually chalked said musings up to ‘wishful thinking’ on my part, I did notice a few ‘suspicious’ things to back up any hesitant claims I might have made. Like how Alex never seemed particularly interested in spying on the girls’ locker room-a pastime in which many of his friends partook. Then there’s his apparent love of ‘chick flicks’: Titanic, Two Weeks Notice, A Walk to Remember… Though I suppose I’m making a broad generalization; hell, even I don’t like those films much. But hey- if you’d seen him during Kate and Leopold, you’d have your doubts, too.
Finally-and perhaps my biggest tip off that ‘something’ was going on in The Wonderful World of Al- I took misgivings in his recent behavior.
‘Recent’ being the past year or so.
He doesn’t smile anymore. At least, not as often as he used to- now he’s all frowns and nervous yelling and blushes. And as adorable as he is when he turns red (and as much as I love to tease him about it), it’s just not the same. Alex is meant to live in Technicolor; he’s made to be laughing and beaming and cheerful and real.
I worry about him when he’s not.
I prodded Mom into giving me her opinion on the matter- on his sudden reserve and frequent glowers-; she just said that he’s being moody. Like I was during puberty. And the only reason I was so moody during puberty was all of the ‘finding myself’ shit I went through. Or ‘confronting my inner gay,’ as Rosie likes to put it. So of course that got me wondering…
But I told myself I was being crazy. Al does plenty of “non-gay” things, too: he had a girlfriend, back in 8th grade. True, she only lasted a week, and he was the one who broke things off (I was admittedly too happy about that), but she still existed. And he loves reading lemons on the internet. (Blackmail is fun.)
Which brings me to the most pressing question: where does that leave me?
Answer: My little brother-who’s bones I’d love to jump- might be gay. That’s where. He might be gay, just like the sky might turn pink and sprout green polka dots; just like I might pass chemistry and math this semester.
I don’t know if that’s a good thing, that “might” (I mean, c’mon, then I’d at least have a chance); but I do know this-
My heart was beating quickly when Alex, however drugged, muttered that he might like boys… Quickly and loudly.
And so was his.
I could hear it.
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Skeletons
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Alexander’s illness progressed for a little less than a week-nothing horrible or life-threatening, or even enough to keep him out of school. (Heck, after the first night, it was really only a mild discomfort: like wet underwear.) Nothing he couldn’t-or wasn’t used to- handling, no matter how unpleasantly his stomach rolled or puckered. He was tough. He was determined.
… and he was getting compensation, in a sense. Or at least, in his opinion: while sick, Alex was fortunate enough to enjoy a great deal of attention; attention lavished upon him by the certain someone who slept on the top bunk. Edward, despite his usual laziness, was a blessing when it came to dealing with illness-their mother often said he’d be a wonderful physician. He was always so calm and soothing… And Alexander couldn’t deny (not even privately) that it was nice- nice to be able to spend time with Ed and not be bothered by… well, himself: always so busy, in the back of his mind, trying to come up with an excuse to be annoyed or a reason to go.
Perhaps the doctor had been right; perhaps Alex was suffering from anxiety disorder, not a cold. Because he certainly felt better once he had loosened up a bit-allowed Edward to sketch him while he played with Alchemy; and laughing when Rosie lost at Uno and threw a mock fit. In fact, the brunette soon realized that he felt better now than he had in a long time, churning belly or not.
But… there was one thing still hanging rather heavily on his mind.
That night. The one where he’d taken the Nyquil.
…He couldn’t really remember what happened.
Oh, sure, he had a basic (if somewhat fuzzy) idea-he’d watched TV with his family, Ed had helped him to bed, they’d talked… but somewhere in that mesh of foggy memory he’d wound up saying some things he probably shouldn’t have. At least, he was pretty sure he had... (‘Did I…?’)
That, and he’d woken up to find Edward dozing next to him: sitting on the floor beside Alex’s bed with his head in his crossed arms. It went without saying that Al had freaked out upon seeing this- ‘What on Earth happened!’-but he was quickly pacified by his wearily annoyed, only-half-conscious brother, who curtly informed Alex that he’d fallen asleep gripping a sizeable chunk of Ed’s hair. And he’d refused to let it go.
“…Oh,” had been Alexander’s incredibly articulate response to this discovery. But still, though admittedly calmer, he continued to feel as if he’d let something slip… something secret.
Not that he could tell one way or another from the way Edward was acting; after a brief nap, his older sibling had been as good as new-jovial, if not nonchalant about everything. He’d assured Al that it was fine, he hadn’t minded staying up late (“I had some things I wanted to think about, anyway.”) and that he was just glad Alex ‘had gotten the rest he needed.’
This, of course, equated to Edward being either the world’s most caring older sibling, or a desperate teenage boy trying to sweep something unusual under the rug. Because really, that just wasn’t normal. Who in their right mind would say something so thoughtful to someone who’d kept them up all night?
With all of that in mind, Alexander had personally staked his claim on the latter: ‘a pretty way to cover his own ass.’ But… well, in all honesty, he was probably just being paranoid. Things didn’t seem odd between Alex and his brother; not in the least- so if he had said anything, anything even mildly incriminating, it was probably just something stupid.
…He hoped.
X
February, 1922
Dear Al,
Do you remember winters in Resembool? When the ground was all snowy, and the trees were made of ice, and the wind could cut through you like a million shards of glass? Remember how freezing it was, how much we hated it? How we used to tell Mom that the North would be cake compared to Resembool’s winters?
Resembool has nothing on Munich.
It’s like the cold will never end-the streets are frozen, the houses are frostbitten, there’s never enough wood to build a big fire or enough blankets to keep truly warm… The dismal temperatures wreck havoc on my arm and leg. (Even though they’re not metal anymore, the ports still ache like crazy in weather this miserable.) Heiderich seemed to notice how much trouble they were causing me, and offered to massage the hurt out-as he’s seen me try to do, no matter how awkwardly. I told him no, thanks.
I don’t know, Al. I shouldn’t be so cold to him, I know I shouldn’t. But whenever I’m around him… He doesn’t even look that much like you, you know? At a distance, maybe, but up close…
Still, it’s enough to make me want to cry. And you know me-I don’t cry. I hate crying. And so I try to avoid being touched at all costs.
I think it hurts his feelings.
I hope he can forgive me.
-Ed
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He wasn’t used to this.
Edward scowled at the blank canvas he’d placed on his easel, hooking his feet around the legs of his stool. The chair squeaked. His hands gripped the seat between his thighs; he rocked back in forth in place, chewing on the tip of a paintbrush. The chair squeaked again, clattering rhythmically against the cement basement floor.
“. . .”
His expression turned sour, brow furrowing in utter frustration when nothing came to him. Absolutely nothing. Nothing but a dull buzzing… Ed’s mind was too full; a whirl of noises and thoughts as white and overwhelming as the canvas before him.
At this point, the blonde surprised himself by cursing sulkily, muttering the bitter word around the handle of his brush. He glared at the tray of paints beside him, hands itching to throw them in a display of immature fury. But he knew he never would-he didn’t want to deal with cleaning them up, for one, and they were too expensive to waste.
Still, the thought was appealing…
“Creator’s block?”
Ed deflated, blowing out his cheeks as the familiar voice bounced off of the walls; a thin hand simultaneously falling upon his shoulder. Rosie, now beside him, scrutinized the completely empty canvas, drumming her fingers idly. The action was somewhat annoying…
“I don’t know,” Edward groused, still nibbling on the end of his paintbrush. “I thought painting something would help, but I just… I can’t get into the right state of mind.”
“Oh?” Rosalie hummed flippantly, jutting out a hip as she stared at the whiteness- absorbing it. It really was sort of pathetic, all that whiteness… “There’s a state of mind for this?”
Edward cast his sister a flat look, prodding her in the side with the blunt end of a pencil. “Not for doing nothing,” he drawled, “but yes, for painting there is. For any sort of art there is. And I just can’t get my brain to shut up so as to achieve that state!” The teen kneaded his forehead as he said this, clearly aggravated- which Rosie noted with a genuine hint of surprise. Irritated? Her oldest brother was rarely anything other than… well, somewhat spacey. What in the world could have dragged him back down to Earth?
“Ed…?” she murmured, frowning lightly as Edward buried his face in his palms, muttering under his breath. She quickly removed her hand, abruptly aware of how tense his shoulder felt beneath her fingers. “Ed, wait, are you being serious here? Are you okay?”
A pause.
“… I don’t know.”
He nearly whispered it, sounding torn and flustered and furious all at once. Rosie was definitely surprised now, taking a physical step backwards as he lifted his head, glowering. “I don’t know, Rosalie. I haven’t been able to think straight for the past few days. I can’t… I can’t do anything!” he all but snarled, tugging at his hair as he curled in upon himself. “Whenever I do, I start thinking about him… and what he said… and how I’m being stupid, but I just can’t stop myself!”
Well. This was certainly different. Rosalie leaned back against the cold wall, watching her brother attentively-greatly intrigued. “Alex?” she surmised without much effort, piercing her eldest sibling with her turquoise eyes. “Alex said something? What’d he say?”
“He was drugged at the time,” Ed grumbled, returning to nibbling on the handle of his brush. His fingers twitched; Rosie could tell that he longed for his cigarettes. This only deepened her frown. ‘They’re both going to die from stress before they reach 30.’ “But he… he told me that he might… you know…” The blonde cleared his throat uncomfortably, shifting in his seat, making the stool rock. Rosie quirked an eyebrow, waiting. (She didn’t have to wait too long.)
“That he might be gay, too.”
... Despite it all, Rosalie couldn’t bring herself to look too shocked- only amused. Greatly amused. “We sure have some strange genes in this family, don’t we?” she all but sang, examining her chipping nail polish with a thoughtful little smile. “But really, I don’t see why you’re so horrified by this.”
“I am not horrified!” Edward snapped-his little sister straightened, fully taken aback- but immediately calmed himself with a deep breath. Or two. Or three. (Ed fumed wordlessly, massaging his temples. He hated being angry; it made his head hurt.) A long, heavy moment dragged out between them… but after that pause he managed to relax. Albeit a bit forcefully.
“I am not horrified,” Edward repeated calmly, twirling the now-thoroughly-chewed brush between his long fingers. His golden eyes remained fixed on the canvas, however; squinting, as if trying to see something through fog. “I just… I mean… it was cruel, almost. As if he might clear one of the steps between us… but still…” The toying stopped; he slouched-now balancing precariously on top of the stool with his knees pulled to his chin. “Well, he’d be so much closer to me, but all the farther away.”
“. . .” Rosie couldn’t help but grin. “Poetic,” she complimented easily, sliding down the wall with a little sigh. “But pretty emo, too, big brother.” She giggled, feeling his amber gaze flick towards her. “Though I guess you can’t help it, being the overdramatic freak you are.”
“Thanks, Rosie. Way to make me feel better in my hour of need.”
“This isn’t your hour of need,” the girl assured dully, playing with a stray lock of her hair. “This is your hour of unnecessary griping. I mean, really, Edward. Did it ever occur to you to talk to Alex about this?”
He graced her with a dry stare. “Did it ever occur to you to run out in front of a speeding bus? Because really, that’s essentially what you’re telling me to do.”
A snort. “No, it’s not,” she quipped, eyes still lightly shut. “I’m not suggesting you go rape him, or anything-or even tell him how you feel. But Alex’s guard is down right now, and I’m sure he needs someone to talk to. About what he’s feeling, and all of that. Even if the admission came as the result of a Nyquil-drugging, it still proves that the concern has been hanging heavily on his mind. And the fact that he hasn’t mentioned it until now just shows that he’s tearing himself up inside… or is for some reason afraid to see how we’ll react to his potential preferences. Dunno why, but there you go.”
Rosalie nodded, as if confirming this with herself. Edward just stared.
“…What’re you, a physiatrist?” he then asked with a tiny smirk, looking at her from over his kneecaps. Rosie, in retort, glared at him; sticking out her tongue.
“I wouldn’t have to be if you’d figure out your own problems, for once,” she returned coldly. Apparently, she didn’t appreciate being teased after doing someone a service. “Now go talk to Alex.”
But to Rosalie’s surprise (and irritation), Ed shook his head; turning away as he-was that a blush? “No.”
“Go!” she growled, pointing a finger up the stairs. Both stood at the same time, glaring at the other-though Edward had a definite height advantage, towering a full foot over his sister.
“And say what?” he questioned grimly, placing his fists on the base of his hips, paintbrush jammed behind his ear. “ ‘Hey Al! Yeah, so, you gay?’ ”
Rosie graced him with an exasperated glare, matching his stance fist for fist. “You could try a little tact,” she suggested icily, and with enough sarcasm to sink the Titanic, “but that’s the basic idea, yes.”
Her brother scoffed, rolling his eyes; her eyebrow ticked. “Dammit, Edward!” she hissed, throwing her hands up in vexation. “What IS it with guys and communication? It’s key in a relationship, you know!” When he didn’t reply, Rosie shook her head, turning away with a disgusted grunt. “Men! They make me wish I was a lesbian!”
“You ARE a lesbian,” Ed couldn’t help but counter, watching her storm up the stairs. It probably wasn’t the wisest thing to say, in retrospect… Rosalie scowled-pausing on the middle step just long enough to flip him off. With both hands.
“I’m bisexual!”
“You tell that to Amy,” he called, wincing as she slammed the door. But not loud enough to drown out his retort, evidently, as she swiftly screeched in reply:
“I HAVE! Now YOU go talk to Alex before I talk to him myself! And who knows what I’ll say…?”
If nothing else, that got Edward moving.
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May, 1922
Dear Al,
I ran into a pickpocket today. The kid was maybe six years old, and when I chased him down (you bet I chased him down), I saw that he was taking care of two younger siblings-a sister and a brother, both barely older than four. They were starving and ragged and frightened, living in an ally behind the butcher’s shop.
I let them keep the money. I gave them an earful, but I let them keep it. I gave them my address, too, for if they needed anything else.
And after I left, I thought of us. I thought of us after Mom died-when we believed we had nothing left to lose. We were foolish, yes. And we were reckless. And though I know it was completely our fault for what happened afterwards, a part of me had always blamed alchemy. I used to wonder how great things would have been without it-living a quiet life together, whole, without the military or the Stone or blood seals or any of that.
But it just occurred to me today, watching those kids… maybe we were lucky.
I mean, I’m not saying that what happened to us was good-it was horrible. It was Hell. But what if we’d never learned alchemy? What if we’d never met Teacher? What if we’d tried to live by ourselves, like those kids? What if, like them, we’d failed?
Though we faced death in many other ways-ways that we, in a sense, chose-, we never had to worry about money or starving or anything like that. Not like those orphans have to. And we had a purpose; a goal. Friends to help us. They’re all alone, simply living because they’re too afraid to die.
Perhaps I’ve been looking at things the wrong way. Perhaps everything happens for a reason; or at least has a little good behind it.
Maybe there’s some good in my being stuck here, too?
-Ed
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However, in the end, Edward won.
Sort of.
Just like, in the end, Rosie won.
Sort of.
As it turned out, Alexander had fallen asleep on the couch, curled up around Alchemy, and was looking so peaceful that neither had the heart to wake him-even if it meant sacrificing an argument, in Rosalie’s case. Which was how Ed won: he didn’t have to talk to Alex, as his sister had demanded. This was definitely a stroke of luck, as he still had no idea as to what he wanted to say, but at the same time, he had to wonder:
How on Earth had Alex managed to sleep through his and Rosie’s very noisy fight?
…As it turned out, he hadn’t.
Which was how Rosie won.
Of course, this didn’t become apparent until much later-after the moon had risen to its distant peak, glowing brightly through the window; sharp rays cutting into the cool fall night. It was beautiful, like a shining bubble in a calm black sea: its playful beams bouncing and ricocheting off of the pale yellow walls of Edward and Alexander’s bedroom. The evanescent shimmer illuminated each shadowed corner, pooling in silvery puddles on the carpet.
Alexander watched the celestial orb with subdued eyes, heavy eyelids flickering. But though his expression was languid, his mind was alive; frantic and crackling-shooting thoughts though his veins like little electrical currents. He gazed silently into space, running through the afternoons events over and over in his mind… sitting on the couch, Alchemy in his lap, gaping in horror as Edward and Rosalie’s hushed argument grew louder and louder, floating up to him. Words he couldn’t believe… ‘Did they know I was listening? Did they forget I was here? Were they trying to play a trick on me?’
Edward’s muffled words-the first he’d clearly heard- echoed endlessly in his ears: I just… I mean… it was cruel, almost. As if he might clear one of the steps between us… but still…
What was Ed talking about? Did it have something to do with what he, Alex, had said that night-? Did… did Edward know what he sometimes found himself thinking about, when he couldn’t stop himself…?
‘No, he couldn’t possibly!’ Alex hastily assured himself, pinking. His fingers tightened into fists beneath the bedspread, firmly closing his eyes. ‘And stop thinking that, yourself! You’re just being dumb! Now, go to sl-’
“Al. . .?”
Alexander froze, stomach dropping as he yelped, head whipping to the right-to find Edward leaning over the side of his bed, upside down; hair nearly long enough to brush Alex’s mattress. He was frowning sleepily, eyebrow arched.
“Al?” he repeated, watching groggily as Alexander began to breathe again, his grip on his blankets loosening. “What’re you doing, still up? It’s nearly one. We’ve got school tomorrow.”
Alex supposed this would be a good time to answer, (or at least speak,) but strangely, he found that he couldn’t- he was too busy watching Ed’s lengthy locks shimmer in the moonlight, a dark straw color in the dimness. And though he was sure his cheeks were flaming, he couldn’t help but continue to stare, swallowing around the lump in his throat.
Well, he’d be so much closer to me, but all the farther away…
“Brother…” the brunette suddenly heard himself murmur, pushing stray strands of copper-colored hair behind his ears, sinking deeper into his pillows, “Ed, can I… ask you something?”
Edward blinked-then, apparently unable to keep himself from toppling over any longer, pulled himself securely back up to the top bunk. Regardless, he responded with an easy (if not drowsy): “Sure. What’s up, brother-mine? It must be somethin’ big, to keep you up so late.”
Alex smiled slightly, despite himself. But his voice, when he spoke, shook just the same. “What… did I say?” he asked softly, curling around Bunny, his stuffed kangaroo. The doll’s worn-out button eyes shone like dull pennies; the worn cloth of its body smelt faintly of Downy and cigarette smoke. He tried to ignore his embarrassment and the crushing quiet-concentrating on the familiar scent instead. “What did I say when I was high on Nyquil? What did I say that made you so… you know, with Rosie. Did I… say something wrong?”
He squeaked out the final inquisition, too nervous to look anywhere but out the window. Not that it mattered-Edward hadn’t moved either; he was probably just staring at the ceiling, looking horrified. Though if he was, he sure didn’t sound it. He only sounded… subdued. Careful. “… you didn’t say anything wrong,” Ed assured quietly, the springs of his bed creaking as he shifted to the left. “You just told me that you thought you might be gay.”
Alex’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, eyes widening. He suddenly felt like he was going to puke again… “I did…?” he choked, torn between feeling terrified and-somewhere, deep inside-relieved. That he’d finally said it, whether or not he chose to believe it was true. “Would that gross you out, if I were. . . ?”
Edward chuckled, rolling over completely. “‘Gross me out’. . . ? C’mon. I am many things, Al,” he sighed into his pillows, sounding somewhat amused, “but I am not a hypocrite. Of course I wouldn’t be grossed out if you were gay. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m gay, too.”
That was true. That was very true. But- Alex blinked. ‘Wait a minute…’ “I’d be so much closer, but all the farther away,” he said under his breath, brow wrinkling in thought.
From above him, his brother seemed to stiffen, sitting up. “Excuse me?” he inquired, a little faster than necessary. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing,” Alexander replied just as quickly, turning scarlet. ‘Way to blow your cover, Alex!’ “I just… I heard you say to Rosie…” The brunette swallowed loudly; Edward was being unusually quiet. “Brother…” he tried again, softer this time. Why did he feel like crying? He didn’t want to cry-he wasn’t sad, or anything. And yet… “Brother, I’m confused!” Alex snuffled, cursing himself profusely as the tears began to well. ‘Why am I so pathetic?’ “I don’t understand what I feel, I don’t understand how I think, and I certainly don’t understand what I want!” He made an angry noise in the back of his throat, trying to quell the burning sensation that was working its way upward. “I just don’t understand!”
Silence. Silence except for Alexander’s heavy breathing: an attempt to counter his stinging tear ducts. It didn’t help. Thus, facing imminent irritation, Alex briefly wondered if Ed had fallen asleep; it’d been a full minute and he hadn’t yet responded.
But then-rather abruptly- the elder boy sighed… and his hand drifting over the edge of the top bunk, dangling a few inches above Al’s head. “We rarely ever do,” he assured quietly, in that low, velvety voice Alex loved so much. “But you’ve got to keep trying, anyway. You’ve got to do what you think is right; what you think is best for you; no matter how selfish it may sound. After all, before you live with anyone else, you’ve got to live with yourself and the choices you make-and the consequences they bring.”
“. . .” Sniffing lightly, Alexander nodded, grabbing Ed’s hand and lacing their fingers together. His brother’s hand was warm and large, probably speckled with ink and paint… and was surprisingly strong, beneath the softness.
It felt like heaven.
Alex smiled.
“Brother…?”
“Mmm?”
“Have you ever had to follow your own advice?”
But this time, Edward didn’t respond-he was fast asleep.
X
August, 1922
Dear Al,
Heiderich and I went driving today; the weather was beautiful and we’d finished most of our work. Heiderich’s plans are really coming together … at this rate, we’ll have a rocket ready to launch at the local carnival next year. Heiderich says he can’t wait to take me there, he’s sure I’ll really enjoy myself. I told him that I’d been to fairs before and that they were never anything exciting, but he just laughed and assured me that that was because I’d never been on a Ferris wheel. I had to admit, he was right- I’d never even heard of them. So I let him tell me about Ferris wheels until he fell asleep under a maple tree. He seemed happy; I was glad.
…I’ve been sort of worried about him, Al. He still has coughing fits, once in a while, though he hasn’t had a cold since last year. And he looks at me strangely, sometimes. As if he’s not really seeing me… or as if he’s trying to find someone else in me. I caught him attempting to hold my hand last week. And I almost let him, without thinking. Or, rather, thinking he was you. I don’t know why I thought that; you two really don’t look anything alike. But sometimes… I don’t know. I lose myself, I guess. Like the time I first met him. God, I was so stupid… I really thought I’d found you.
And I just have to say that it’s truly a miracle he didn’t have me institutionalized that very moment. I would have seen to it personally, had a complete stranger raced up and hugged me, sobbing and ranting in some foreign language.
But he didn’t. He looked shocked, of course, but only for a moment. Then-for some reason unknown to me; whether it be my resemblance to Cullison or Heiderich’s own natural kindness- he chose to hug me back, pick up his spilt groceries, and take me home.
It makes me think, sometimes, that he wants something else from me. What, I’m not sure… but something else that I can’t give.
I hope that I’m wrong. For his sake, for my sake, and for yours, Al.
-Ed
XXX
Yea! We’re getting close to some scenes I know you’re ALL going to like. X3
As for other ‘yea’ things-OH MY GOD! -O.O- You guys are spoiling me; really, you are. I have never been so flattered! Three fanarts in less than a week? *blush* You guys are so incredibly sweet… and talented! I mean, geez! Your art skills PWN! ^_~
In any case, I’ve saved all of your amazing drawings to my laptop-and whenever I need a motivational kick in the rump, I stare at them for a while and feel loved. ^_^
Seriously. Thank you. I REALLY mean that-and thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting, also! You guys are awesome, too… I can’t believe how big this fic has gotten; I am in complete awe.
(… Shit, now I’m crying all over my keyboard. ^_^;;;)
You guys rock. And I love you all so much! *huggles*
See ya later!
Disclaimer: Oh yeah, I SO pwn this. (And yes, I’m a horrible liar. XD)
Author’s Note: Ah, what an appropriate way to start a chapter! While in the middle of a fight with my mom over Elricest. Love is love, dammit. That’s all I’m gonna say. X3
Enjoy chapter four! :D
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I’d been wondering about Alex’s sexual preferences (guy or girl, that is) for… well, I hesitate to say “too long”... let’s just stick with “a while.” A long while. And though I usually chalked said musings up to ‘wishful thinking’ on my part, I did notice a few ‘suspicious’ things to back up any hesitant claims I might have made. Like how Alex never seemed particularly interested in spying on the girls’ locker room-a pastime in which many of his friends partook. Then there’s his apparent love of ‘chick flicks’: Titanic, Two Weeks Notice, A Walk to Remember… Though I suppose I’m making a broad generalization; hell, even I don’t like those films much. But hey- if you’d seen him during Kate and Leopold, you’d have your doubts, too.
Finally-and perhaps my biggest tip off that ‘something’ was going on in The Wonderful World of Al- I took misgivings in his recent behavior.
‘Recent’ being the past year or so.
He doesn’t smile anymore. At least, not as often as he used to- now he’s all frowns and nervous yelling and blushes. And as adorable as he is when he turns red (and as much as I love to tease him about it), it’s just not the same. Alex is meant to live in Technicolor; he’s made to be laughing and beaming and cheerful and real.
I worry about him when he’s not.
I prodded Mom into giving me her opinion on the matter- on his sudden reserve and frequent glowers-; she just said that he’s being moody. Like I was during puberty. And the only reason I was so moody during puberty was all of the ‘finding myself’ shit I went through. Or ‘confronting my inner gay,’ as Rosie likes to put it. So of course that got me wondering…
But I told myself I was being crazy. Al does plenty of “non-gay” things, too: he had a girlfriend, back in 8th grade. True, she only lasted a week, and he was the one who broke things off (I was admittedly too happy about that), but she still existed. And he loves reading lemons on the internet. (Blackmail is fun.)
Which brings me to the most pressing question: where does that leave me?
Answer: My little brother-who’s bones I’d love to jump- might be gay. That’s where. He might be gay, just like the sky might turn pink and sprout green polka dots; just like I might pass chemistry and math this semester.
I don’t know if that’s a good thing, that “might” (I mean, c’mon, then I’d at least have a chance); but I do know this-
My heart was beating quickly when Alex, however drugged, muttered that he might like boys… Quickly and loudly.
And so was his.
I could hear it.
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Skeletons
XXX
Alexander’s illness progressed for a little less than a week-nothing horrible or life-threatening, or even enough to keep him out of school. (Heck, after the first night, it was really only a mild discomfort: like wet underwear.) Nothing he couldn’t-or wasn’t used to- handling, no matter how unpleasantly his stomach rolled or puckered. He was tough. He was determined.
… and he was getting compensation, in a sense. Or at least, in his opinion: while sick, Alex was fortunate enough to enjoy a great deal of attention; attention lavished upon him by the certain someone who slept on the top bunk. Edward, despite his usual laziness, was a blessing when it came to dealing with illness-their mother often said he’d be a wonderful physician. He was always so calm and soothing… And Alexander couldn’t deny (not even privately) that it was nice- nice to be able to spend time with Ed and not be bothered by… well, himself: always so busy, in the back of his mind, trying to come up with an excuse to be annoyed or a reason to go.
Perhaps the doctor had been right; perhaps Alex was suffering from anxiety disorder, not a cold. Because he certainly felt better once he had loosened up a bit-allowed Edward to sketch him while he played with Alchemy; and laughing when Rosie lost at Uno and threw a mock fit. In fact, the brunette soon realized that he felt better now than he had in a long time, churning belly or not.
But… there was one thing still hanging rather heavily on his mind.
That night. The one where he’d taken the Nyquil.
…He couldn’t really remember what happened.
Oh, sure, he had a basic (if somewhat fuzzy) idea-he’d watched TV with his family, Ed had helped him to bed, they’d talked… but somewhere in that mesh of foggy memory he’d wound up saying some things he probably shouldn’t have. At least, he was pretty sure he had... (‘Did I…?’)
That, and he’d woken up to find Edward dozing next to him: sitting on the floor beside Alex’s bed with his head in his crossed arms. It went without saying that Al had freaked out upon seeing this- ‘What on Earth happened!’-but he was quickly pacified by his wearily annoyed, only-half-conscious brother, who curtly informed Alex that he’d fallen asleep gripping a sizeable chunk of Ed’s hair. And he’d refused to let it go.
“…Oh,” had been Alexander’s incredibly articulate response to this discovery. But still, though admittedly calmer, he continued to feel as if he’d let something slip… something secret.
Not that he could tell one way or another from the way Edward was acting; after a brief nap, his older sibling had been as good as new-jovial, if not nonchalant about everything. He’d assured Al that it was fine, he hadn’t minded staying up late (“I had some things I wanted to think about, anyway.”) and that he was just glad Alex ‘had gotten the rest he needed.’
This, of course, equated to Edward being either the world’s most caring older sibling, or a desperate teenage boy trying to sweep something unusual under the rug. Because really, that just wasn’t normal. Who in their right mind would say something so thoughtful to someone who’d kept them up all night?
With all of that in mind, Alexander had personally staked his claim on the latter: ‘a pretty way to cover his own ass.’ But… well, in all honesty, he was probably just being paranoid. Things didn’t seem odd between Alex and his brother; not in the least- so if he had said anything, anything even mildly incriminating, it was probably just something stupid.
…He hoped.
X
February, 1922
Dear Al,
Do you remember winters in Resembool? When the ground was all snowy, and the trees were made of ice, and the wind could cut through you like a million shards of glass? Remember how freezing it was, how much we hated it? How we used to tell Mom that the North would be cake compared to Resembool’s winters?
Resembool has nothing on Munich.
It’s like the cold will never end-the streets are frozen, the houses are frostbitten, there’s never enough wood to build a big fire or enough blankets to keep truly warm… The dismal temperatures wreck havoc on my arm and leg. (Even though they’re not metal anymore, the ports still ache like crazy in weather this miserable.) Heiderich seemed to notice how much trouble they were causing me, and offered to massage the hurt out-as he’s seen me try to do, no matter how awkwardly. I told him no, thanks.
I don’t know, Al. I shouldn’t be so cold to him, I know I shouldn’t. But whenever I’m around him… He doesn’t even look that much like you, you know? At a distance, maybe, but up close…
Still, it’s enough to make me want to cry. And you know me-I don’t cry. I hate crying. And so I try to avoid being touched at all costs.
I think it hurts his feelings.
I hope he can forgive me.
-Ed
X
He wasn’t used to this.
Edward scowled at the blank canvas he’d placed on his easel, hooking his feet around the legs of his stool. The chair squeaked. His hands gripped the seat between his thighs; he rocked back in forth in place, chewing on the tip of a paintbrush. The chair squeaked again, clattering rhythmically against the cement basement floor.
“. . .”
His expression turned sour, brow furrowing in utter frustration when nothing came to him. Absolutely nothing. Nothing but a dull buzzing… Ed’s mind was too full; a whirl of noises and thoughts as white and overwhelming as the canvas before him.
At this point, the blonde surprised himself by cursing sulkily, muttering the bitter word around the handle of his brush. He glared at the tray of paints beside him, hands itching to throw them in a display of immature fury. But he knew he never would-he didn’t want to deal with cleaning them up, for one, and they were too expensive to waste.
Still, the thought was appealing…
“Creator’s block?”
Ed deflated, blowing out his cheeks as the familiar voice bounced off of the walls; a thin hand simultaneously falling upon his shoulder. Rosie, now beside him, scrutinized the completely empty canvas, drumming her fingers idly. The action was somewhat annoying…
“I don’t know,” Edward groused, still nibbling on the end of his paintbrush. “I thought painting something would help, but I just… I can’t get into the right state of mind.”
“Oh?” Rosalie hummed flippantly, jutting out a hip as she stared at the whiteness- absorbing it. It really was sort of pathetic, all that whiteness… “There’s a state of mind for this?”
Edward cast his sister a flat look, prodding her in the side with the blunt end of a pencil. “Not for doing nothing,” he drawled, “but yes, for painting there is. For any sort of art there is. And I just can’t get my brain to shut up so as to achieve that state!” The teen kneaded his forehead as he said this, clearly aggravated- which Rosie noted with a genuine hint of surprise. Irritated? Her oldest brother was rarely anything other than… well, somewhat spacey. What in the world could have dragged him back down to Earth?
“Ed…?” she murmured, frowning lightly as Edward buried his face in his palms, muttering under his breath. She quickly removed her hand, abruptly aware of how tense his shoulder felt beneath her fingers. “Ed, wait, are you being serious here? Are you okay?”
A pause.
“… I don’t know.”
He nearly whispered it, sounding torn and flustered and furious all at once. Rosie was definitely surprised now, taking a physical step backwards as he lifted his head, glowering. “I don’t know, Rosalie. I haven’t been able to think straight for the past few days. I can’t… I can’t do anything!” he all but snarled, tugging at his hair as he curled in upon himself. “Whenever I do, I start thinking about him… and what he said… and how I’m being stupid, but I just can’t stop myself!”
Well. This was certainly different. Rosalie leaned back against the cold wall, watching her brother attentively-greatly intrigued. “Alex?” she surmised without much effort, piercing her eldest sibling with her turquoise eyes. “Alex said something? What’d he say?”
“He was drugged at the time,” Ed grumbled, returning to nibbling on the handle of his brush. His fingers twitched; Rosie could tell that he longed for his cigarettes. This only deepened her frown. ‘They’re both going to die from stress before they reach 30.’ “But he… he told me that he might… you know…” The blonde cleared his throat uncomfortably, shifting in his seat, making the stool rock. Rosie quirked an eyebrow, waiting. (She didn’t have to wait too long.)
“That he might be gay, too.”
... Despite it all, Rosalie couldn’t bring herself to look too shocked- only amused. Greatly amused. “We sure have some strange genes in this family, don’t we?” she all but sang, examining her chipping nail polish with a thoughtful little smile. “But really, I don’t see why you’re so horrified by this.”
“I am not horrified!” Edward snapped-his little sister straightened, fully taken aback- but immediately calmed himself with a deep breath. Or two. Or three. (Ed fumed wordlessly, massaging his temples. He hated being angry; it made his head hurt.) A long, heavy moment dragged out between them… but after that pause he managed to relax. Albeit a bit forcefully.
“I am not horrified,” Edward repeated calmly, twirling the now-thoroughly-chewed brush between his long fingers. His golden eyes remained fixed on the canvas, however; squinting, as if trying to see something through fog. “I just… I mean… it was cruel, almost. As if he might clear one of the steps between us… but still…” The toying stopped; he slouched-now balancing precariously on top of the stool with his knees pulled to his chin. “Well, he’d be so much closer to me, but all the farther away.”
“. . .” Rosie couldn’t help but grin. “Poetic,” she complimented easily, sliding down the wall with a little sigh. “But pretty emo, too, big brother.” She giggled, feeling his amber gaze flick towards her. “Though I guess you can’t help it, being the overdramatic freak you are.”
“Thanks, Rosie. Way to make me feel better in my hour of need.”
“This isn’t your hour of need,” the girl assured dully, playing with a stray lock of her hair. “This is your hour of unnecessary griping. I mean, really, Edward. Did it ever occur to you to talk to Alex about this?”
He graced her with a dry stare. “Did it ever occur to you to run out in front of a speeding bus? Because really, that’s essentially what you’re telling me to do.”
A snort. “No, it’s not,” she quipped, eyes still lightly shut. “I’m not suggesting you go rape him, or anything-or even tell him how you feel. But Alex’s guard is down right now, and I’m sure he needs someone to talk to. About what he’s feeling, and all of that. Even if the admission came as the result of a Nyquil-drugging, it still proves that the concern has been hanging heavily on his mind. And the fact that he hasn’t mentioned it until now just shows that he’s tearing himself up inside… or is for some reason afraid to see how we’ll react to his potential preferences. Dunno why, but there you go.”
Rosalie nodded, as if confirming this with herself. Edward just stared.
“…What’re you, a physiatrist?” he then asked with a tiny smirk, looking at her from over his kneecaps. Rosie, in retort, glared at him; sticking out her tongue.
“I wouldn’t have to be if you’d figure out your own problems, for once,” she returned coldly. Apparently, she didn’t appreciate being teased after doing someone a service. “Now go talk to Alex.”
But to Rosalie’s surprise (and irritation), Ed shook his head; turning away as he-was that a blush? “No.”
“Go!” she growled, pointing a finger up the stairs. Both stood at the same time, glaring at the other-though Edward had a definite height advantage, towering a full foot over his sister.
“And say what?” he questioned grimly, placing his fists on the base of his hips, paintbrush jammed behind his ear. “ ‘Hey Al! Yeah, so, you gay?’ ”
Rosie graced him with an exasperated glare, matching his stance fist for fist. “You could try a little tact,” she suggested icily, and with enough sarcasm to sink the Titanic, “but that’s the basic idea, yes.”
Her brother scoffed, rolling his eyes; her eyebrow ticked. “Dammit, Edward!” she hissed, throwing her hands up in vexation. “What IS it with guys and communication? It’s key in a relationship, you know!” When he didn’t reply, Rosie shook her head, turning away with a disgusted grunt. “Men! They make me wish I was a lesbian!”
“You ARE a lesbian,” Ed couldn’t help but counter, watching her storm up the stairs. It probably wasn’t the wisest thing to say, in retrospect… Rosalie scowled-pausing on the middle step just long enough to flip him off. With both hands.
“I’m bisexual!”
“You tell that to Amy,” he called, wincing as she slammed the door. But not loud enough to drown out his retort, evidently, as she swiftly screeched in reply:
“I HAVE! Now YOU go talk to Alex before I talk to him myself! And who knows what I’ll say…?”
If nothing else, that got Edward moving.
X
May, 1922
Dear Al,
I ran into a pickpocket today. The kid was maybe six years old, and when I chased him down (you bet I chased him down), I saw that he was taking care of two younger siblings-a sister and a brother, both barely older than four. They were starving and ragged and frightened, living in an ally behind the butcher’s shop.
I let them keep the money. I gave them an earful, but I let them keep it. I gave them my address, too, for if they needed anything else.
And after I left, I thought of us. I thought of us after Mom died-when we believed we had nothing left to lose. We were foolish, yes. And we were reckless. And though I know it was completely our fault for what happened afterwards, a part of me had always blamed alchemy. I used to wonder how great things would have been without it-living a quiet life together, whole, without the military or the Stone or blood seals or any of that.
But it just occurred to me today, watching those kids… maybe we were lucky.
I mean, I’m not saying that what happened to us was good-it was horrible. It was Hell. But what if we’d never learned alchemy? What if we’d never met Teacher? What if we’d tried to live by ourselves, like those kids? What if, like them, we’d failed?
Though we faced death in many other ways-ways that we, in a sense, chose-, we never had to worry about money or starving or anything like that. Not like those orphans have to. And we had a purpose; a goal. Friends to help us. They’re all alone, simply living because they’re too afraid to die.
Perhaps I’ve been looking at things the wrong way. Perhaps everything happens for a reason; or at least has a little good behind it.
Maybe there’s some good in my being stuck here, too?
-Ed
X
However, in the end, Edward won.
Sort of.
Just like, in the end, Rosie won.
Sort of.
As it turned out, Alexander had fallen asleep on the couch, curled up around Alchemy, and was looking so peaceful that neither had the heart to wake him-even if it meant sacrificing an argument, in Rosalie’s case. Which was how Ed won: he didn’t have to talk to Alex, as his sister had demanded. This was definitely a stroke of luck, as he still had no idea as to what he wanted to say, but at the same time, he had to wonder:
How on Earth had Alex managed to sleep through his and Rosie’s very noisy fight?
…As it turned out, he hadn’t.
Which was how Rosie won.
Of course, this didn’t become apparent until much later-after the moon had risen to its distant peak, glowing brightly through the window; sharp rays cutting into the cool fall night. It was beautiful, like a shining bubble in a calm black sea: its playful beams bouncing and ricocheting off of the pale yellow walls of Edward and Alexander’s bedroom. The evanescent shimmer illuminated each shadowed corner, pooling in silvery puddles on the carpet.
Alexander watched the celestial orb with subdued eyes, heavy eyelids flickering. But though his expression was languid, his mind was alive; frantic and crackling-shooting thoughts though his veins like little electrical currents. He gazed silently into space, running through the afternoons events over and over in his mind… sitting on the couch, Alchemy in his lap, gaping in horror as Edward and Rosalie’s hushed argument grew louder and louder, floating up to him. Words he couldn’t believe… ‘Did they know I was listening? Did they forget I was here? Were they trying to play a trick on me?’
Edward’s muffled words-the first he’d clearly heard- echoed endlessly in his ears: I just… I mean… it was cruel, almost. As if he might clear one of the steps between us… but still…
What was Ed talking about? Did it have something to do with what he, Alex, had said that night-? Did… did Edward know what he sometimes found himself thinking about, when he couldn’t stop himself…?
‘No, he couldn’t possibly!’ Alex hastily assured himself, pinking. His fingers tightened into fists beneath the bedspread, firmly closing his eyes. ‘And stop thinking that, yourself! You’re just being dumb! Now, go to sl-’
“Al. . .?”
Alexander froze, stomach dropping as he yelped, head whipping to the right-to find Edward leaning over the side of his bed, upside down; hair nearly long enough to brush Alex’s mattress. He was frowning sleepily, eyebrow arched.
“Al?” he repeated, watching groggily as Alexander began to breathe again, his grip on his blankets loosening. “What’re you doing, still up? It’s nearly one. We’ve got school tomorrow.”
Alex supposed this would be a good time to answer, (or at least speak,) but strangely, he found that he couldn’t- he was too busy watching Ed’s lengthy locks shimmer in the moonlight, a dark straw color in the dimness. And though he was sure his cheeks were flaming, he couldn’t help but continue to stare, swallowing around the lump in his throat.
Well, he’d be so much closer to me, but all the farther away…
“Brother…” the brunette suddenly heard himself murmur, pushing stray strands of copper-colored hair behind his ears, sinking deeper into his pillows, “Ed, can I… ask you something?”
Edward blinked-then, apparently unable to keep himself from toppling over any longer, pulled himself securely back up to the top bunk. Regardless, he responded with an easy (if not drowsy): “Sure. What’s up, brother-mine? It must be somethin’ big, to keep you up so late.”
Alex smiled slightly, despite himself. But his voice, when he spoke, shook just the same. “What… did I say?” he asked softly, curling around Bunny, his stuffed kangaroo. The doll’s worn-out button eyes shone like dull pennies; the worn cloth of its body smelt faintly of Downy and cigarette smoke. He tried to ignore his embarrassment and the crushing quiet-concentrating on the familiar scent instead. “What did I say when I was high on Nyquil? What did I say that made you so… you know, with Rosie. Did I… say something wrong?”
He squeaked out the final inquisition, too nervous to look anywhere but out the window. Not that it mattered-Edward hadn’t moved either; he was probably just staring at the ceiling, looking horrified. Though if he was, he sure didn’t sound it. He only sounded… subdued. Careful. “… you didn’t say anything wrong,” Ed assured quietly, the springs of his bed creaking as he shifted to the left. “You just told me that you thought you might be gay.”
Alex’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, eyes widening. He suddenly felt like he was going to puke again… “I did…?” he choked, torn between feeling terrified and-somewhere, deep inside-relieved. That he’d finally said it, whether or not he chose to believe it was true. “Would that gross you out, if I were. . . ?”
Edward chuckled, rolling over completely. “‘Gross me out’. . . ? C’mon. I am many things, Al,” he sighed into his pillows, sounding somewhat amused, “but I am not a hypocrite. Of course I wouldn’t be grossed out if you were gay. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m gay, too.”
That was true. That was very true. But- Alex blinked. ‘Wait a minute…’ “I’d be so much closer, but all the farther away,” he said under his breath, brow wrinkling in thought.
From above him, his brother seemed to stiffen, sitting up. “Excuse me?” he inquired, a little faster than necessary. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing,” Alexander replied just as quickly, turning scarlet. ‘Way to blow your cover, Alex!’ “I just… I heard you say to Rosie…” The brunette swallowed loudly; Edward was being unusually quiet. “Brother…” he tried again, softer this time. Why did he feel like crying? He didn’t want to cry-he wasn’t sad, or anything. And yet… “Brother, I’m confused!” Alex snuffled, cursing himself profusely as the tears began to well. ‘Why am I so pathetic?’ “I don’t understand what I feel, I don’t understand how I think, and I certainly don’t understand what I want!” He made an angry noise in the back of his throat, trying to quell the burning sensation that was working its way upward. “I just don’t understand!”
Silence. Silence except for Alexander’s heavy breathing: an attempt to counter his stinging tear ducts. It didn’t help. Thus, facing imminent irritation, Alex briefly wondered if Ed had fallen asleep; it’d been a full minute and he hadn’t yet responded.
But then-rather abruptly- the elder boy sighed… and his hand drifting over the edge of the top bunk, dangling a few inches above Al’s head. “We rarely ever do,” he assured quietly, in that low, velvety voice Alex loved so much. “But you’ve got to keep trying, anyway. You’ve got to do what you think is right; what you think is best for you; no matter how selfish it may sound. After all, before you live with anyone else, you’ve got to live with yourself and the choices you make-and the consequences they bring.”
“. . .” Sniffing lightly, Alexander nodded, grabbing Ed’s hand and lacing their fingers together. His brother’s hand was warm and large, probably speckled with ink and paint… and was surprisingly strong, beneath the softness.
It felt like heaven.
Alex smiled.
“Brother…?”
“Mmm?”
“Have you ever had to follow your own advice?”
But this time, Edward didn’t respond-he was fast asleep.
X
August, 1922
Dear Al,
Heiderich and I went driving today; the weather was beautiful and we’d finished most of our work. Heiderich’s plans are really coming together … at this rate, we’ll have a rocket ready to launch at the local carnival next year. Heiderich says he can’t wait to take me there, he’s sure I’ll really enjoy myself. I told him that I’d been to fairs before and that they were never anything exciting, but he just laughed and assured me that that was because I’d never been on a Ferris wheel. I had to admit, he was right- I’d never even heard of them. So I let him tell me about Ferris wheels until he fell asleep under a maple tree. He seemed happy; I was glad.
…I’ve been sort of worried about him, Al. He still has coughing fits, once in a while, though he hasn’t had a cold since last year. And he looks at me strangely, sometimes. As if he’s not really seeing me… or as if he’s trying to find someone else in me. I caught him attempting to hold my hand last week. And I almost let him, without thinking. Or, rather, thinking he was you. I don’t know why I thought that; you two really don’t look anything alike. But sometimes… I don’t know. I lose myself, I guess. Like the time I first met him. God, I was so stupid… I really thought I’d found you.
And I just have to say that it’s truly a miracle he didn’t have me institutionalized that very moment. I would have seen to it personally, had a complete stranger raced up and hugged me, sobbing and ranting in some foreign language.
But he didn’t. He looked shocked, of course, but only for a moment. Then-for some reason unknown to me; whether it be my resemblance to Cullison or Heiderich’s own natural kindness- he chose to hug me back, pick up his spilt groceries, and take me home.
It makes me think, sometimes, that he wants something else from me. What, I’m not sure… but something else that I can’t give.
I hope that I’m wrong. For his sake, for my sake, and for yours, Al.
-Ed
XXX
Yea! We’re getting close to some scenes I know you’re ALL going to like. X3
As for other ‘yea’ things-OH MY GOD! -O.O- You guys are spoiling me; really, you are. I have never been so flattered! Three fanarts in less than a week? *blush* You guys are so incredibly sweet… and talented! I mean, geez! Your art skills PWN! ^_~
In any case, I’ve saved all of your amazing drawings to my laptop-and whenever I need a motivational kick in the rump, I stare at them for a while and feel loved. ^_^
Seriously. Thank you. I REALLY mean that-and thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting, also! You guys are awesome, too… I can’t believe how big this fic has gotten; I am in complete awe.
(… Shit, now I’m crying all over my keyboard. ^_^;;;)
You guys rock. And I love you all so much! *huggles*
See ya later!